Marching On
by DarkestWolfx
Summary: 21 - Ornament: She was no ornament that needed wrapping in layers of bubbles. A mixed series of prompts to fill for March (meant to be one a day)! Summary will change accordingly.
1. Temporary

So, some of you will know that for the last week or so I ended up with writer's block like that of a car hitting a brick wall. So, one of my best friends – who is currently (and very kindly) about 300 pages in to the next draft of my novel – found this for me on tumblr.

It's a prompt set for March, a prompt to cover each day and so I know I am really behind and will need to catch up if I want to get them all done before April, but she's dared me to do this! I might jump around with the order (she's said that's okay, so I'll do it if I need to), but I have chosen to start with 1 for now.

Also, I wasn't really sure how to title this, but oh well.

So, here goes, wish me luck!

I don't own Thunderbirds Are Go, never have, never will, all I do is write about it. I'm going to aim to try and give everyone equal time in the spotlight, but we'll see how that goes. I'm also planning to write these with TAG setting, but I will let you know if any stray into TOS, but I see that as unlikely. I'm also planning for every work to be able to stand alone. Assume this covers all episodes, but I will give specific warnings at the start of chapters if I think there will be any particular spoilers.

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**I: Temporary**

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Summary: He never could be and yet, that was the man they all needed _now_: so he stepped into those shoes.

Words: 914

Spoilers: None

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The first rescue after Dad's disappearance was met with a lack of knowing where to look.

John had reported it like normal procedure, probably glad that there was something else to watch; and Virgil had stood up with a vigour Scott hadn't seen for days, probably glad that there was something else to think about.

Gordon and Alan had remained seated, but their expressions flickered too.

And then there was the awkward silence, almost as awkward as the one which had delivered _the _news.

No one knew where to look.

For a moment, five sets of eyes travelled towards the desk. _The _empty desk.

Usually by this point, Dad would be there, ready and waiting to take control of the situation and dispatch them according to the information he had from John. But there wasn't anyone there this time, for the first time since International Rescue began.

And the boys had never done a mission without Dad. Well, without Dad _here _or around, or just generally near enough to help them. A voice if not a psychical presence… and yet now, now there was neither of those things to fill this void of insecurity and unsurety. There was just an empty space where the man used to sit, a massive gap which none of their efforts would ever allow them to cross without great sacrifice and cost.

Scott wondered, from where he was right now, what sacrifice his life would be. His brothers would miss him of course – that would be the cost – and the world would lose more of International Rescue than it already had but… Well, they were silly thoughts really. He didn't even know if there was another side to cross to.

Foolish thinking aside though, the fact remained that the chair they looked to was undeniably vacant, and was looking – painstakingly – to be staying that way. Gordon kept joking; maybe Brains will make a time machine? But it didn't make things any better. Alan was probably the only one who caught any momentary hope from it… Yeah, there was no way back.

_Only forward._

Before he even knew it, what with his focus being on their missing Father, all eyes had turned to _him._

Me? _Why?_

Being the eldest was rarely something he'd considered a curse.

Until now. Because that was why.

_I'm the oldest._

And just like they'd all looked to Dad because he was _Dad, _now they were looking to him for guidance because he was the eldest of them, maybe the closest thing to Dad that was left. Maybe… No. They couldn't possibly all think he was a subtle leader? A suitable… dare he say it, replacement, for Dad?

Not like this he wasn't.

But what other option was there?

They were looking to him, waiting for his answer, for him to say _something. _To _do _something. There was a rescue waiting, and they were waiting. Scott knew that he knew would be waiting: waiting for something he didn't even know the answer too yet. He didn't know what he was waiting for or looking for, but he did know there was no going back.

_Only forward._

They hadn't had time to think about this, to think through what the practical solution was. There was a rescue waiting now, and they had to answer the call.

"Virgil, get Thunderbird Two in the air, and take Gordon with you in case we need an extra pair of hands. I'll launch in Thunderbird One. Alan- stay here. John, monitor the situation and let us know any updates on the fire's spread."

"FAB."

And just like that it was done. He'd given his first orders, Virgil and Gordon heading off to launch and Alan running off in a mood at being told to remain. But Scott knew he wasn't quite ready to be out there yet. Dad wouldn't have sent him. John signed off, promising to catch up with them when they were airborne.

Scott- well, he knew, logically, that he should launch now, but- headed towards their Dad's desk. He ran his hand over the wood which had yet to gather dust and felt a little like he was usurping a King whose body had yet to grow cold. He wasn't his Father. He held many aspects of Jeff Tracy, yes, but he wasn't the same man. He never could be and yet, that was the man they all needed _now_: or at the very least a shadow of him to fill the gap.

So that was Scott.

The shadow of their Father.

"It's temporary, Dad."

It had to be. This-this wasn't a long-term solution. He wasn't a leader, he wasn't his Father, he couldn't do what that man had, he- He was very little in comparison and yet suddenly he was thrust forward into the footsteps of everything he had longed to follow and yet knew he never really could be.

That's why he couldn't lead IR permanently. He was a pilot. Yes, he was also a leader in many senses of the word, having always led his brothers in some way, but, he wasn't _that. _That, of course, being everything which had summed up Jeff Tracy, the mass of elements which made the man a son, husband, father, adventurer, rescuer, commander_, leader- _a great leader.

And now he stepped into those shoes.

_Temporarily._

He told himself as he headed towards Thunderbird One, ready to launch under the guise of leader for the first time.

_This is temporary._


	2. Forest

This one takes a creative license thinking, so just run with me for a bit? When I first saw this prompt, I was absolutely clueless. I spent ages mulling over how to get the boys near to a forest and then inspiration struck me – and I think I'm actually going to expand this story into a separate story of its own, which possibly fits in with the 'Young Tracy's' and backstory series that I'm creating (let me know if you're interested in seeing that after reading this… glimpse).

I should have seen way earlier that this prompt was a brilliant draw for the use of some of my travel experience, but hey, this author is also a little bit of an idiot, clearly to have not picked up on that sooner!

There will also only be one update tonight, but two for tomorrow.

So, I will leave you with this nugget of information as it's probably what set me off, and all other details relevant to this fic you can find in the notes at the end;

"_The central part of Tracy Island is a lush tropical forest, home to a variety of plants and animals unique to the island."_

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**2: Forest**

Summary:_ 'There's a reason no one goes into that forest alone.' _Alan just hadn't expected what it really was.

Words: 2481

Spoilers: None

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Usually Alan would pull Gordon in on his trouble making plans, but not this one. This one he wanted the glory all to himself. Apparently, the forest on the island – which Gordon had always liked to characterise as a jungle – was impenetrable, with crossing from one side to the other impossible. Alan had every plan to film his journey across the great green landscape and prove his brother's wrong.

Knowing the oldest three, they'd probably never even tried to venture in there, just listened to Dad's every word and warning against it like good sons.

But Alan _wanted_ to _know_. He wanted to know what was in there. Gordon always described it like the jungle out of The Jungle Book, which John always claimed was due to the blonde knowing of no other jungle to compare it too. Virgil had painted it, but only ever from the outside, never anything else and Scott did nothing but tow the line that it was impassible.

Well, youngest and bravest had every plan to change that, so he had decided. He'd packed his rucksack with drinks and snacks just in case he was stuck out there for a while, and he'd made sure his camera had enough charge to film the whole journey. Yes, this was going to be good. He couldn't wait to see his family's faces when he proved them all wrong.

He prepared himself with a deep breath, before sneaking out of his room, and into the quiet, dimly lit hallway. He didn't switch any lights on so as to lessen his chances of waking anyone and he moved with a much speed and silence as he could. It was hard, because he was so excited to finally be doing this, but he wouldn't be doing it if he got caught, so he continued on course, quiet and determined, though excited.

He made it out of the house easily enough and then quickly dashed off into the lifting cover of night. It would be light enough by the time he made it to the forest, and there was no reason why he shouldn't be able to make it back before darkness fell again. He was hoping to make it back for lunch.

Alan felt apprehension creeping in the closer he come to the green forestry, but he pushed on still. He was determined to be the first to cross that land, to prove to everyone that there was nothing to fear in there, that it was possible to go in and come back out. That was his reason for being here, and he was prepared, he wasn't turning back.

Deep breath in, and off he went-

"Where are you going?"

_Oh no… _That was Gordon. He sighed as he turned around to see the smiling, smirking form of the brother closest to him in age, just as he'd predicted.

"I thought I didn't wake anyone."

"You didn't." Gordon smiled, wide and bright like usual when he was planning trouble, and for once Alan worried he too was in the impact zone for said mayhem, even though he was usually excluded due to being _part _of the trouble causing.

"Good."

"Because we were already awake."

And that was Scott. Unless Gordon had suddenly become some kind of expert in ventriloquism, which Alan couldn't rule out of the realm of possibility. But, no, Scott appeared behind the swimmer and Alan felt his heart sink. His escapade was clearly flawed and there was likely little chance of him getting in the forest now.

_Great. _All that planning for nothing.

And it really was for nothing, because soon John and Virgil appeared to stand at the eldest's side and Alan knew luck couldn't have been rooting for him.

"Don't tell me you all just _happened_ to be awake?"

That was an odd thing to happen at… six in the morning. Well, odd for Virgil and Gordon at least: Scott was military trained, and John was an astronaut, so for them it was perfectly plausible.

But Virgil laughed.

"I woke them." Gordon explained and Alan felt somewhat betrayed. "I knew you were planning something, and you left me out. Cheek of that."

"And this is to teach me not to?"

"Hey, little brother, what can I say? If you'd let me in on the plan… This wouldn't have happened."

Yeah, he felt _very _betrayed.

"Anyway," Scott began, arms folded, brows raised, "What are you doing heading for the forest?"

"I'm going in."

This time, they all laughed. All _four _of them.

"What? _What _is so funny?"

"You're not going in there."

"Yes, I am, Scott. I'm going to prove you all wrong."

"What are you trying to prove wrong?" Virgil enquired, brows frowning incredibly akin to Scott's.

"That there's no reason why we can't go into this forest."

"Other than the fact that it's nearly impossible to navigate?"

"And covers most of the island, and is mostly impenetrable?"

"And it's darker in there than it ever is out here, even in daylight?"

"And it's massive." Gordon finished off, only for three older sets of eyes to turn to him. Alan found _that _rather comical. "What? You three took all the good points."

John shook his head. Virgil chuckled.

"So, Alan, knowing all that, you're still planning to go in?" Scott began, "Because you know, despite all that, there's a reason no one goes into that forest alone."

"I know, it's because Dad said- Wait, did you say _alone_?"

"Yeah."

"_Alone_, but not, _not at all_?"

"Correct."

"At least we know he can still hear ok- ow!"

Virgil had whacked Gordon's chest in response to that.

"But I thought no one had ever been in there? It's not allowed."

"With good reason." John muttered, although Alan could expect that from his second brother.

"They've been in there." Gordon began, something in his tone sounding remorseful. "I would have loved to have a wonder through."

"Feel free, but I'm never going in there again." John stated and Gordon smiled. Alan had a feeling his trouble making partner knew the story he didn't here.

"Me neither." Virgil agreed. "The art wasn't worth it."

"Art?" He was well and truly confused. "But you never paint the inside of the forest."

"I did intend to, but I never really got a look at anything different from the outside. I was too busy trying to find a way out."

"You've been in the forest? Why wasn't I told this sooner? Ok, you have to tell me this story now!"

"Ok," The eldest relented. "You see, Virgil here thought it would be a great artistic opportunity to see the inside of the forest." Scott began. "So, he 'wisely' ignored Dad and went in there."

"And got lost." John concluded.

"I prefer to say I misplaced my sense of direction."

"Whatever you like."

"So, John and I – good brothers we are - went in after him, and we were pretty lucky in being able to find him, but-"

"We also ended up getting lost." John added, "For all Scott had promised me he'd be able to get us out with his amazing sense of direction."

"I did get us out, thank you very much."

Gordon suddenly started chuckling again, and Alan knew there was more that he was missing. This wasn't a simple lost and found.

"Yes, after we ran into half of the unique wildlife out there." John contributed.

Virgil groaned. "Don't remind me! I'm still haunted."

"I looked it up on the internet, I don't think it's that scary." Gordon added and Alan really wanted to know what he was still missing. Virgil didn't scare easily either, but his middle brother was cringing and moving away from Gordon as he spoke. "Lots of legs, quick moving and slimy."

"And bites." The astronaut added almost bitterly.

"What does?" He was sure his brothers could be talking about any number of things, especially if there was wildlife in that forest he'd never seen before.

"Centipedes." Gordon answered, clearly still on a mission to tease Virgil.

"But they're tiny." He'd seen some which had made into the house. They were always nothing scary, just little fast-moving bugs that usually got themselves stuck in the bath before they met their end.

"No, eight inches long-"

"The size of a golf tee, give or take." Virgil helped with his visual imagining of the now big issue which dwelt inside the scary forest.

"-And with a dangerous bite." Scott explained.

"_Poisonous_ bite." John corrected, with venom of his own.

"Woah, really?"

"You should expect there to be something poisonous on this island, little bro."

"I know, Gordon, but a centipede?"

"Yeah. Definitely a centipede." Virgil agreed with shivers going down his spine anew.

"But – hang, I don't get… how that's relevant to you getting lost?" Alan asked, it being his turn to frown now, and Scott sighed as John and Virgil's eyes turned to him. Gordon was smiling like a clown.

"Ok, so John and I rushed after Virgil, forgetting that neither of us had shoes on. I had socks on, but John had bare feet. After we'd managed to find Virgil, we were trying to find our way back and found the centipede's instead."

"Right…"

"_It has to be this way."_

"_How do you know that, Scott?"_

"_I don't, John, but I'm pretty sure we came this way… See look, there's a tree."_

"_It's a forest, Scott!"_

"_There are trees everywhere!"_

"_Virgil, I don't need you stating the obvious too."_

"_You're the one stating the obvious, not me. I just pointed out what you clearly didn't see!"_

"_I did too see the trees, hence why I said it."_

"_Not at all helpfully."_

"_Well it wasn't helpful of you to just run off here."_

"_I didn't think it was going to be this…"_

"_What? Everything Dad said it was?"_

"_I just thought I could use the scenery."_

"_Great, did you hear that John? We've got ourselves lost for the sake of scenery."_

"_I really couldn't care why. Let's just get out of here."_

"_Great idea, John. Pity Scott's getting prematurely old!"_

"_Hey! You try remembering anything round here-"_

"_Stop arguing."_

"_-it all looks exactly the same, there's nothing to remember!"_

"_Well maybe you should have thought more about rushing in after me!"_

"_Maybe you should have thought more about not rushing in-"_

"_Ow!"_

"_John? What now?"_

"_I've got bare feet-"_

"_Should have put some shoes on then."_

"_-And I think something just bit me."_

"_Probably because you've got no shoes on."_

"_Virgil…"_

"_Here, hold onto me before you fall over."_

"_Can we jus- eww! What are all those things!"_

"_They've got loads of legs."_

"_They're centipedes."_

"_They're disgusting!"_

"_I think that's what bit me."_

"_They don't bite… do they?"_

"_Why are you looking at me, Virgil? John's the genius."_

"_Genius or not, I don't know. I don't have x-ray vision to see through my feet!"_

"_Great… just great."_

"Well, you obviously made it back." Alan summarised once his elder brothers finished recounting their encounter, Gordon having enjoyed the whole thing despite the youngest being able to tell he'd heard it all before. Honestly, having lived long enough on the island, he was used to the bugs, though he wasn't very keen on the thought of centipedes anymore either. And the things had been known to make their way towards the house… little tiny ones, but still. "You found a way out?"

"Eventually." Virgil groaned. "It took ages."

"Yeah, and I even had to carry John."

"Considering _you_ were the one who pulled me out the house without leaving me any time to get my shoes, Scott, I _don't_ think that piggyback was unfair."

"Me neither."

"Hey, _we_ were only in there _because_ of you, so _you_ don't get a vote!"

"Besides, I couldn't have walked back anyway, considering the fact I'd been poisoned."

"Yeah ok, but Brains said it wouldn't have been fatal."

"We didn't know that!" John and Virgil chorused, and even Gordon wasn't smiling now.

"Nor did Dad. He all but _blew_ _up_ when you returned, and I had a front row seat! Heck, you all say I'm loud; I say that's where I got it from."

"Hang on- So, let me get this straight." His brothers turned their focus to him. "Virgil went into the forest even though we're not meant to. You two went in after him and got just as lost. John got bitten by a poisonous-"

"Venomous." Scott interjected.

"-Centipede and somehow you found your way home. Did I miss anything?"

"Well, you skimmed it down a lot." Virgil corrected.

"But I don't think you missed anything." Gordon interjected.

"Right. So that's why I shouldn't go into the forest alone?"

"Yeah, and why you shouldn't go in there at all, little brother."

"You do not want to get bitten by a centipede."

"No?" Gordon asked, clearly trying to find some humour, but John refused to oblige the swimmer.

"No. I don't care that it's not fatal, it still hurts like level four on Schmidt index*."

"Well, I think we should head home before anyone else wakes up." Scott decided, making his opinion and it was met with three more sets of agreement before those blue eyes turned on him. "Alan? You coming with, or are you still going through the forest?"

He gave the forest one last glance. He still could if he wanted to, but his opinion on braving the forest had changed drastically since he left the house.

"Maybe I won't bother."

"Good call."

"Oh no, don't you all go getting the wrong idea. My decision has nothing to do with any of you." Alan assured. He wasn't certain that his brothers believed him from the skeptical glances, but he was definitely going to run with his story. "I just wanted to be the first. There's no _point_ bothering if I've already been beaten to it."

Pushing past, Alan tried to further his argument by being the first to walk back up the hill. There really was no value in It for him if he wasn't the first, and his brother's cautionary tale had made it seem… well, it confirmed everything he'd always been warned of when it came to the forest.

They all headed back up to the house, with no one else any the wiser that the forest had ever been on the exploration list, but at the same time, Alan had a feeling he was going to be sharing Virgil's bug based shivers for quite some time now. Whilst he would have believed Gordon to pull such a prank, John wouldn't lie about being bitten by a centipede, which meant the things really were as horrible as he thought they were ugly.

No, there was a reason why not one went into that forest alone, and it was the same reason that no one should go in _at all._

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*Schmidt string pain index – list the pain sale of different large order insect bites. It ranges from 1-4, with four being described as '_blinding' _levels of pain.

So, when I travelled to the rain forest, I was warned to look out for "the eight-inch centipedes" with a sting "worse than a hive of bees". So for anyone unsure, 8 inches is the equivalent size of a golf tee, or a little bit more than a brand new, sharpened pencil with an eraser on top. Basically, the locals don't like them, they've just become used to them.

If you do want to look it up (which I wouldn't personally having already done so), the species of centipede to likely inhabit Tracy Island would be the Amazonian giant Centipede (Scolopendra gigantea) which grow to 8 inches minimum, with a maximum length of 12 inches (so the size equivalent of a full ruler). It is reported to have a venom which isn't fatal, however one four-year-old child has reportedly died from it. Its classification has remained venomous, not poisonous however, and it is thought anyone in good health and not of an extremely young or old age would be able to survive. Many people have been reported to fall ill after being bitten by a giant centipede. With recent discoveries of the first amphibious centipede, and reports of two more poisonous Scolopendrra Subspinipes (Thailand and Mexico), it is likely that the main genus of the Scolopendra family will soon be reclassified.

Before anyone asks why I've said it's nonfatal in this story, that is because I have referred to it as matches its current classification, although if that is ever redefined (which I think it should be), I will edit this to match.

So, personally, I think I am very lucky to not have encountered one whilst I was in the rainforest! I felt very much like Virgil as I walked around, constantly on the lookout with goosebumps going up my arms. I had some excellent guides though, and attribute my survival and learning to them. If I sent this their way, they would probably laugh at what I'm using all that knowledge they gave me for!


	3. Salvage

They'll be two updates tonight, so I'm just going to throw them up and leave you to read them.

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**3: Salvage**

Summary: Gordon was the salvaging type, not the one who needed saving.

Words: 851

Spoilers: Potential spoilers for _'Up from the Depths'_ (S2E6) and _'SOS: Part II'_ (S3E13).

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Gordon was often the man in charge of the salvaging. He was the one who dropped down into the depths to save ships, subs, people and their cargo. That was the routine he was used to, and he could make those calls now with relative ease. He'd seen many things and he had many plans up his sleeve.

The water was his home in many ways, and nothing could stop him from navigating the tides.

He rated his rescues, just like all his brothers did, but there was never one to top finding the TV-21. The Mechanic may have got away with it in the end, and he may have left little salvageable of Thunderbird Four in his wake (and yes, that had taken some time to get over), but Gordon ultimately was the one who held the memory of seeing Dad's name appear before his eyes.

He was the one who had led the salvage operation, who had pulled the lost and forgotten craft from its resting place. That was all _him_.

When it came to water, he was the one. No one else piloted Thunderbird Four, it was his and his alone, and the ocean was his forgotten home. If there was such a thing as previous lives – and Gordon had still yet to decide on which side of the fence he sat on, but still - he knew he would have been a fish, or maybe even a whale. He would have been something powerful with prowess that swam the waves just as he paddled in the tides. He would have been a king of the sea, just as he tried to be now.

And really, he was, because with Thunderbird Four, there was nothing he couldn't accomplish down in those deep blue depths.

Well, almost nothing. And he'd seen most things that you could expect for an underwater operative to witness. But he had to say almost, for there was something even he couldn't achieve, and it had been painfully proven to him.

He rated his rescues, just like he knew his brothers did, but there was always one which would live at the bottom of the list; which nothing to come would change. It was the one rescue that would never be more than a haze in his mind.

And not hazy because he was choosing to forget about it. No, part of him almost wished that he could know about it, because he hated having that gap.

The one rescue he didn't remember, was his own. Yet, Gordon had decided that even if he could remember it, it would never change where it ranked.

He remembered putting his helmet on, just in case, because all that rock was definitely coming down. He remembered waking briefly, the wrong way up and with a visual akin to that of fine cracks filtering through an ice cube. He remembered straining to hit the right buttons, making it so that John would know, would be able to send them all to find him, but everything else was _pain, _and _crushing_ and _fear._

_And dark._

Almost blissfully dark. Only almost.

They got him out, because he woke up in hospital and they were all with him. The hospital, not Tracy Island, and that said it all. This was something even they couldn't deal with. He was in far less pain now, but that was probably just the drugs shielding him. He knew pain like that he'd just felt didn't disappear for no apparent reason. At some point those drugs would wear off and it would come back.

They'd tried to fill in the blanks for him, but they weren't all sinking in. He understood that they'd had to leave Four behind and save only him. He understood that Lady Penelope had been the one to come in and get him, he understood that John was down here because the odds had clearly been stacked against his favour. The hospital had already suggested that, but pulling John down to Earth… that didn't happen for a scratch or sprain. He understood the fussing was because they'd all panicked when they couldn't get any response from him, and thought their luck might have finally run out. He understood all that, but the real specifics had gone beyond him then. Later he would have been able to comprehend them, but he chose not to hear much more of it.

He didn't like to be reminded of the time that the flipper was on the other foot, so to speak.

Usually he did the salvaging, but for once his family had had to come down into his depths to rescue him.

Pity the same couldn't be said for Thunderbird Four. _Again._

There were many things Gordon had salvaged from under the sea, but only one time that it had ever needed to be him. He planned to keep it that way; he liked being the one capable of salvage, not the one in need of it.

Gordon was the salvaging type; not the one who needed saving.

And that was just how he liked it.


	4. Credit

**4: Credit**

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Summary: Credit. What a funny word that was. Did anyone still know what it meant?

Words: 712

Spoilers: None.

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Scott had always had an odd relationship with words. Not all words, certain words.

He wasn't John, who loved books and language and took to them as easily as a bird did to the sky. He wasn't Virgil either, who had kindled a love of words for their artistry. He wasn't Gordon, who had favourites and loved language for its… potential. Nor was he Alan, who had found words to be a struggle, but come to like them.

He couldn't say he hated them. There were just certain ones that he took issue with. Words which didn't make sense, or that no one really knew what they meant, or that could have multiple meanings with different spellings. They really never made any sense to him.

There was one which flew to mind, which fit into many of the categories set aside for words he… disliked, to be nice. It was a word he'd heard all too often in his life too.

Credit.

As in;

Unlimited credit, or financial credit, or total credits, or payment credits, or invisible credits, or taking credits, or giving credits, or to credit a name, or to gain educational credit, or mark-worthy credit, or good reputational credit… _Credit_,

_As in_…?

Well, which meaning did people expect him to take? It hardly seemed right to him that one word was allowed to mean so many varied things, and yet, be a word that seemed to hold regard. You never really said credit like it was a dark, banned word. Usually people desperately sought-after credit; whether to keep themselves afloat or to be praised.

Scott supposed he'd been lucky in never needing to look for monetary credit, but he knew the battle to gain it in education. After that, he'd never had to put up much of a fight for it. He was a great pilot and the Air Force had loved him. But maybe a little too much, for he heard little else but the word for those few years, thrown around in many forms, but always in some kind of praise.

"_Credit where credit is due."_

That's what everyone usually says.

"_You're a credit to the family."_

That's what all those high-brow types say.

"_Give yourself some credit."_

That's what all the supporters say.

_You can measure a person by who they give credit to._

That was what he believed.

Dad had used to quote President Truman, _"it is amazing what you can accomplish if you do not care who gets the credit,"_ and Scott supposed he could understand how International Rescue had come about with that in mind. They did of course, usually get all the credit, but Dad had never seemed to care for that.

The rescue was what mattered.

And he liked that, not needing to think about anything but the rescue. If people wanted to credit him with their survival, then they could. But he no longer had to listen, to weight himself against the merits he earnt or was awarded.

He could just be, and do, and feel… without giving credit a second thought. And things were better that way, he found, like there was suddenly less pressure, just… existence.

Scott had an odd relationship with certain words. And credit was one of those many…A funny word that he questioned if anyone still knew the meaning of. When you gave a word _that many meanings _could you ever come to know its true meaning again?

He mused that over for a long time.

His annoyance with the word bubbling.

Credit.

Stupid word. Unnecessary in many, many ways and forms.

But people sought it: so it would remain.  
Like those precious gems men scoured the Earth for.  
If there was a want, or need, it would remain.

John had once told him, for all that he'd been able to understand the long linguistical changes, that the word 'credit' was Latin. Why his brother had learnt a language barely spoken now had always

_Credere._

It meant believe or trust apparently, none of this modern-day rubbish.

Scott liked to believe that International Rescue was a credit to the world because people could believe and trust in them, not because they sought reward or acclaim.

One day, he hoped they could reclaim that word.

Credere, _not_ credit.


	5. Obnoxious

**5: Obnoxious**

I will admit to struggling a little (a lot) with this one and I mulled over ideas for a while before I decided to go with this one, even though it's not someone I usually write for, but there's a first time for everything right?

'_Nothing is as obnoxious as other people's luck.' – F. Scott Fitzgerald_

* * *

Summary: He chose the wrong partner. He was just a man who had nothing. Not even a name.

Words: 690

Spoilers: _'The Long Reach'_ (Part II mainly) [S3E26].

* * *

Jeff Tracy.

In many ways he was the man who had _everything_.

He had five sons who worked with him at International Rescue.

He had five- no they'd made it six, and now they'd made it _seven _– high powered crafts.

He had fortune and wealth in abundance, and brains – of his own, and of others. Two others, now.

He had… well, everything.

_Everything _that should be _his._

It wasn't like he'd been born bad.

He was only looking to make something of himself.

But he chose the wrong partner in Jeff Tracy.

"_We can't do that."_

"_That wouldn't be right."_

"_That's not the way to go about things."_

So many rules, so many morals, so much black and white.

They could never work together like that. There was no work getting done with roadblocks everywhere.

Friends… as if. Friends could become enemies, the best enemies.

"_I won't let you do that."_

"_You know that isn't right."_

"_If you do this, there is no going back."_

So many rules, so many morals, so much red tape.

They were opposites from the start, never destined to work out, as friends or partners, and that should have been clear as day to see, not muddy swamp water which took too long to wade through.

"Do you not know the difference between-"

_Right _and _Wrong._

Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't.

But he knew what it was that he wanted to get his hands on, and he knew that he wasn't going to let Jeff Tracy be what stood in his way. Friend turned enemy, that was a fine enough playing field for him.

He could have things _his _way for once.

"_I warned you!"_

"_How could you do that?"_

"_Do you have no conscience? There's more to life than money!"_

Said the man with the money. _Ironic, _he'd always thought, that out of the pair of them, it was the man with the money saying such. It could almost be hypocritical, yes.

To have to follow so many rules, so many morals, so much black and white, so much red tape, and the blasted principles of _Right _and _Wrong _and _conscience._

Did he care?

There was money to be made. But by the time he met Jeff, that man had made enough money for a lifetime and had enough friends in high places to survive.

But him, you ask?

Oh, no big story there.

He was just a man who had _nothing_.

Not even a name.

Not even a face.

He was the shadow who crept in and haunted your dreams, the figure who pulled the rug from beneath your feet and crushed your throat while you sleep.

He _was_ the _bad guy_.

And he'd long accepted that.

If that was how people saw you, what the world made you, then why bother to deny it? It took more energy to do that than to simply accept the way the tide curved for you and go with it.

And that was what he did.

If he went down in history as the thorn in International Rescue's side, then he could settle with that.

If he was remembered by Jeff and those boys as the murder who could appear at any time to steal away their lives, then he could settle with that.

If he was feared by all those who knew his name and was the form who haunted their dreams, then he could settle with that.

He wasn't Jeff Tracy. He didn't want to be.

The man was an obnoxious example of heroism, a man with all the luck.

And there was nothing as obnoxious as other people's luck…

But then, he had a feeling he'd taught International Rescue a thing or two about that. They'd see. They'd just have to see if the GDF could hold him. With Jeff alive and back on Earth, he had even more of a grudge than he did before.

And he had many, many more plans.

After all, he was the villain.

And someone had long said bad guys didn't know how, or when, to lose.

* * *

I know lots of people (including myself) after 'The Long Reach' were waiting for more backstory than what they gave us for The Hood. I haven't really given you that here I know, and it was never fully my intention, although I have played around with what we were given in that episode and tried to expand a little on that.

I'm actually quite surprised at how easy writing The Hood came to me!


	6. Where the Grass is Greener

**6: Where the grass is greener**

The moment I read this prompt, I was like 'I have a favourite poem with a similar title', and after re-reading it, I just knew that that was my inspiration for this little ficlet. The poem is by Eric Hanson.

* * *

Summary: Everyone's trying to go 'where the grass is greener', but what if that place doesn't really exist? Like chasing a dream you will never touch…

Words: 896

Spoilers: None.

* * *

To the outside world, they looked as though they had everything.

They had a farmhouse back in Kansas, the traditional family home.

They had a massive business which made loads of money and held a prestigious name.

They each were someone, brothers at the very least, but they held titles and names of their own in the big wide world.

But, if that world saw them as they truly were, it wouldn't think the same.

Yes, they had an Island, which was great and a perfect place, but it was too big a land mass for the few people they had at home. It felt vacant though it was bright: and hollow though it still held together.

Everyone's trying to go 'where the grass is greener', but what if that place doesn't really exist? Like chasing a dream you will never touch…

_What if grass is greener on the other side,  
Because it's always raining there,_

They didn't have the sun shining on their backs like the world thought. Reporters who spoke of the Tracy family and all their assets. They didn't see the gloom that held strong like the shadow of a dying sun in winter. They didn't see the rain clouds constantly hovering overhead, waiting to release a downpour.

They didn't see the turmoil that only each other were allowed to be privy too.

_Where the ones who never fail to give,  
Hardly have enough to spare,_

They didn't see that Virgil, for all he ran around after others, gave everything of himself that he could, was doing that to fill the void. Because really, he had nothing left to give away, but there seemed to be nothing else there. It was like having a bleeding wound and nothing to staunch the red flow with.

Virgil gave because he could not take.

Not like the world had taken from them.

_Where the people with the broadest smiles,  
Have pillows filled with tears,_

They didn't see that Gordon, for all he smiled bright and bold, was doing so to hold back the waterfall of tears that wouldn't stop if he let that merry look drop. It was like having a punctured tyre, with the gap so small you could never see it, but every day, every _second _the air was leaking uncontrollably until all that remained was flat, lifeless rubber.

Gordon smiled because he would not let anyone see him cry.

None but his pillow saw that side.

_And the bravest ones you've ever known,  
Are crippled by their fears,_

They didn't see that Scott, for all he used to be the brave pilot, was only using that as a way to survive. They didn't know his fears that dared to swallow him whole if he thought of them. It was like being afraid of the dark and having only the tiniest of lights to illuminate the demons, one which would never cover the whole glade.

Scott was brave, for fear of his fears.

Not because he was still confident and strong.

_It's filled with lonely people,  
But they're never seen alone,_

They didn't see that John, for all he could talk and best the world with speech and knowledge, hid himself away because he couldn't bear to be there. They didn't know he was lonely, though he really was not. It was like being in a crowded room, but unable to speak or surrounded but those who were unable to hear you, even if you screamed your lungs hoarse.

John kept himself away, so that no one could see the truth.

None could see what he would not tell himself.

_Where those who lack real shelter,  
Make you feel the most at home,_

They didn't see that Alan, for all he was a kid and a happy one at that, didn't really know where he fit in the world. They didn't see that his home wasn't really what he showed to you. It was like living in the world's biggest mansion, but with no one to share it, the place grew dull, until the windows shattered, the doors blew off and the roof caved in.

Alan kept himself happy, wanted to keep himself busy so he could forget what home was missing.

Not one saw how he really felt homeless.

_Maybe their grass looks greener,  
Because they've painted on its hue,_

The world didn't see what they all really looked like. It was only privy to their better halves; the Tracy brothers on their best days. They saw a very careful depiction of what they wished, things that they could control.

They saw a world that was ideal and rich, and maybe it was okay to keep letting the world see an illusion, because it spared them all the questions and the additional strain. It wasn't perfect, and one day it wouldn't hold up, but in the interim, it would be the way to go.

The world could think what it wanted about their idyllic life, without seeing that all of it was a painted canvas held up to hide the truth beneath.

_Just remember from the other side,  
Your grass looks greener too.  
_

No, the world didn't know how lucky it was sometimes.

It looked at them and saw wealth and good health and assumed they had enough.

Sometimes the brother's looked out from Tracy Island, and assumed the world had enough too.


	7. Distribution

Sorry this was meant to go up yesterday, but things got in the way, so you're getting parts 7 and 8 tonight instead!

* * *

**7: Distribution**

Summary: In the early days, running International Rescue was a very similar process. The calls came in and he distributed their resources as he saw fit.

Words: 1440

Spoilers: None. Potential references to _'Relic'_ [S1E15], but no real spoilers.

* * *

Distribution, thanks to years in business, was a process that Jeff was highly familiar. It was a large part of his life, after all.

And in the early days, running International Rescue was a very similar process. The calls came in and he distributed their resources as he saw fit. It was harder though, harder than business.

Because these weren't products or figures he was talking about, rather real flesh and blood: _his _flesh and blood, _his sons. _And unlike cargo which you could mostly reorder and fix the supply chain, his boys couldn't be made again. They were once in a lifetime fixtures and one moment could lead to their downfall.

He thought for a long time, with Scott desperate to follow him - so much so that it was like kicking heels - whether he was doing the right thing by his boys. It was one thing for Lee to help him; the man was knowledgable and experienced and an _adult. _He'd lived a life and he knew what he was signing up for. Scott wanted to fly the TV-21, desperately, so much so that Jeff would have let him (with some assistance, when he knew it was safe), once it had survived the test flight–

But it didn't.

He'd come back, because he had experience in the field, and he knew what he needed to do. How could he expect the same of his sons? How could he push them into that life?

But _he_ never had to. Lee was right on that account.

Scott was sad – a melancholy that rivalled Jeff's own – that they lost the TV-21 for days, but his eyes had brightened at Thunderbird One which emerged in its place. And John was almost just as bad, his eyes heading skyward every night as though they would bring the waiting Thunderbird Five into his orbit so he could simply climb on and fly away from gravity.

It hadn't taken long for Virgil's eyes to catch the wide-spreading spark either, and soon Jeff found himself inexplicably pairing his boys to the Thunderbirds he was designing. And then Gordon had seen there was a submersible in the works and – because he had been much younger then – signed himself up if it would give him the chance to find Mermaids. Jeff knew, then and there, that Virgil was going to hold onto that for blackmail material against the prankster.

He might be there father, but he wasn't blind.

He'd intended to build International Rescue and the Thunderbirds as a legacy to leave his sons, something they could be a part of one day maybe, when they'd lived out their own lives and had decided it was what they _wanted_ to do. Decided that for themselves, not out of any sense of obligation either.

For a long time that was what he feared.

But by the time Scott was supposed to be leaving for college, it was clear he and John had made every plan to put their own feet down, so to speak, and fight their corner on the matter. Jeff was a little put out to not be the one doing the 'foot putting down' in that moment, but it was undeniable that Scott and John had thought this through with precision thinking (likely belonging to the red-head) which left little room for a counter argument.

Then Virgil had come rushing in demanding he wanted the same deal and agreed point blank with his brothers.

Jeff had never quite got the truth out of his boys, their faces all smiles and confusion and _'what do you mean, Dad?'_, but he knew anyway without needing to break through their charade. He was certain Virgil had been brought in on the plan and was planted to stay outside until such a time that his arrival would be key – like waiting for the opportune moment to move the right piece in chess. Yes, the impetus may have been Scott's, but that plan was undeniably John's.

No International Rescue, no college.

That was the boys very insistent position.

Jeff had argued almost until he was blue in the face, throwing out every reason except for the one which really lived in his heart. He didn't want his boys to think he had certain expectations of them… not ones like that anyway. If they wanted to do anything else with their lives, well that was ok with him, but it seemed – regardless of his opinions – they wanted in.

"I want Thunderbird One – the plans say it's the fastest."

"I have no interest in it. I'm having Five."

"Says who?"

"Says me because it's in Space."

"I'm not arguing that one," Scott assured. "I like gravity."

"Well, good, because I want Thunderbird Two."

Clearly that hadn't been discussed beforehand for Scott and John's eyes widened and brows furrowed. "Why?"

"I don't have to tell you my reasons."

"You don't have a reason do you, Virge?"

"Yes I do."

"Is Gordon right? Is it because you want to be like f-"

"We're done here! Right Dad?"

He nodded. Not really sure what he was meant to say as Virgil went about pushing his elder brothers from the room, leaving Jeff none the wiser as to his middle sons' ambition, nor reasons for wanting Two. Scott and John were obvious and always had been, so he didn't even need to ask. And ok, he couldn't deny they'd been the images in his mind, but he decided he wouldn't share those, not when the boys had taken such control over their own futures.

"You see, Jeff. You needn't have worried, just like I told you."

"I know, Lee. I know. But how was I supposed to know they all felt so strongly?"

"You could expect that enough as you can expect a meteor shower."

"Lee, we can predict meteor showers."

"Oh yeah… Well I guess that's my point."

"So you saw it coming did you?"

"Course I did! Not. Er, well, I'll be off."

"Yes, Thunderbird Five will nearly be ready after this upgrade."

"Right you are, Jeff. By the way, you don't mind that boy of yours coming with me, do ya'? Um… John?"

"John?"

"Claims it's his so he should accompany me."

He chuckled at that. Yes, he did – sort of, with a lack of words – agree to the boys having their own Thunderbirds, he supposed. It would be good for John to go up with Lee whilst they were finishing the final details of the space station too, good knowledge for the future, and he trusted Lee to teach on valuable lessons.

And he'd been up there many times. It was perfectly safe, just as safe as Thunderbird One now was, which had delighted Scott when he last came home on break. Yes, Jeff remembered the many hours he'd spent sat as a co-pilot whilst his eldest circled round the island trying to find his top speed and get used to the controls.

He supposed it would only be a matter of time before Virgil was itching to get his hands-on Thunderbird Two. Heck, his third son had already spent enough time being part of the paint job.

And then there was Gordon, who was still jumping around waiting for his chance at a test run (so he could see Mermaids, _still_, although he was much quieter about that since he realised Virgil could lord it over him).

He supposed it would only be a matter of time before he was redundant, sat back at his desk doing both but distribution. Well, there were a few years to go still, he was easily fit enough to keep going on missions, at least until he'd seen all the boys out on enough of their own.

"No, Lee, I don't mind at all."

And like that, his best friend was off, and a little after that he heard Thunderbird Three roaring to life in the low atmosphere.

Something in the back of his mind nagged at him, and he recognised it as the same feeling which had been present when Scott had been screaming his lungs to death at the joy of finally being allowed to fly his Thunderbird. One by one his boys were growing up, becoming a part of International Rescue, leaving him behind to think about how they were getting on.

He supposed he should fill that gap with something else, something productive, like work. Maybe Virgil would like to work on a little more than the paintwork…

Yes, he knew that one day he would be nothing more than the distribution man, but there were many years to go yet.


	8. Magic 8

I loved this prompt and that's all I'm saying.

* * *

**8: Magic 8**

'_You can't base all your decisions off a magic 8 ball.'_

Summary: _Yes – definitely. _Maybe predicting the future was easier said than done.

Words: 842

Spoilers: References to _'Buried Treasure'_ [S3E22] and _'The Long Reach'_ [s3e25&26].

* * *

When Gordon was younger, he'd asked his brothers for a surprise for his 6th birthday. Many ideas had been thrown around, but in the end Scott, John and Virgil had gone with something which was a new craze. The blonde was bound to like that sort of thing.

And he had liked it.

Maybe a little too much.

The Magic 8 ball became something of a long-term fixture, to the point that their Mother would tell Gordon to stop listening to the thing, and their Father would have to physically remove it from the dinner table.

"Dad, don't!"

"I don't care what you say Gordon, but we don't have toys at the table."

Scott, John and Virgil tried to make themselves as small as possible. Alan was finding the whole situation very interesting, young as he was.

"It's not a toy."

"Yes it is, Gordon."

"But it's not, Mum! I need to it to answer things."

"What could you possibly need it to answer for you whilst we're sat at the table?" Their Mother asked. "We're having a family discussion, there is nothing which would require that things help."

"Yes there is." The blonde insisted, "Go on. Let's do dinner and I'll prove you all wrong."

There had been a lot of head shaking before conversation had resumed somewhat normally.

"Scott, have you revised for that test tomorrow?"

And that was what Gordon had been waiting for. A question, not a statement.

"Oh oh! Let me." He jumped up, grabbing the ball from where Dad had sat it on the side. "Has Scott revised for his test tomorrow?"

"Gordon!"

"Really?"

_My sources say no._

"The Magic 8 ball has spoken!"

"Scott?"

"I revised a little."

"A little?"

"It's not a big test. I'll be fine."

"How will Scott do on his test tomorrow?"

"Gordon!"

"Just wait for it!"

_Outlook not so good._

"I am not listening to a stupid toy!"

"It predicts the _future!"_

"Technically Gordon that isn't possible."

"Don't be so… Don't ruin my dreams, John!"

"Claiming a toy predicts the future is not a dream, Gordon."

"It is not a toy!"

That was the first day that Scott, John and Virgil _really _regretted buying Gordon that present.

* * *

That was only the first of many incidents. Gordon loved being able to have some kind of power. Even when he was alone, he used it for _everything_. Well, nearly everything, but the Magic 8 ball constantly answered his questions (and yes, allowed him to rile up his brothers – who had vowed to never buy him a birthday present again).

"Will Virgil fall victim to my next prank?"

_It is decidedly so._

"Will John be top of his class again this year?"

_Without a doubt._

"Will Scott be in trouble before the end of the week?"

_Signs point to yes._

"Will I ever go to the Olympics?"

_It is certain._

"Will Mum get be a chocolate cake from that bakery in France for my 16th?"

_Cannot predict now._

"Will Dad finish that secret project he's working on?"

_You may rely on it._

* * *

Gordon relied on the Magic 8 ball for nearly everything.

_'You can't base all your decisions off a Magic 8 ball!'_ His brothers told him with frustration when he insisted it told him what to do with his life.

* * *

Gordon relied on the Magic 8 ball for nearly everything until he lost it when he was nine. After some incidents predicting the future wasn't cool anymore. The Magic 8 ball was no longer important as anything more than a little children's toy.

It vanished somewhere during the move to the island, and honestly the elder brothers weren't sure they missed it all that much. Alan, couldn't really remember it too well, yet he was incredibly intrigued by the sound of it. Gordon had shrugged it off since he couldn't find the toy.

It didn't mean the elder blonde didn't begin to miss it over the years.

* * *

But International Rescue became an organisation that the world needed, _desperately, _and Dad disappeared, and things changed. They changed. They didn't have time to act like kids anymore or think about childish toys. Even Alan had forgotten that he'd been excited to see the thing.

Until… Having found his love rekindled strongly, Gordon came home and searched through his belongings, many of them he hadn't unpacked when they moved to the Island, certainly not the stuff which he had then deemed childish. He was gone for entire afternoon, and the sun was setting when he final found himself met with victory.

And he intended to show off.

Running into the lounge with the black ball held in the air and seeing the change in his brother's expression was more than enough of a prize.

"Look what I found!"

The collective sigh that went around the room was heavy and hollow.

Heavens save them if this started the craze all over again.

* * *

"Will we rescue Dad?"

_Yes – definitely._

* * *

"I told you it could predict the future."

"It's a toy, Gordon. A _children's_ toy."

"I like it."

"Hands off, Alan, it's mine."

* * *

Gordon never lost the Magic 8 ball again. It was after all impossible to lose something that lived in Thunderbird Four, and always succeeded in predicting his future.


	9. Expensive

This isn't necessarily not TAG set, but it does reference details that were given clearly in the TOS storyline, and maybe not focused on so much in TAG. So choose the setting as you will.

* * *

**9: Expensive**

Summary: Many things in the world are deemed expensive. Nothing was too expensive in Jeff's mind, not when it came to his boys.

Words: 1234 (Ironic, I know!)

Spoilers: None.

* * *

Expensive was one of those words which, though it had only a singular definition, had multiple meanings.

When someone said to you, _'that's too expensive', _you instantly knew that such meant it _cost a lot of money. _And that – if you could be bothered to look in the tome – was the dictionary definition of 'expensive'.

The only definition.

Yet, the dictionary neglected to throw all it's meaning at you. Expensive didn't just mean that it cost a lot of money, or couldn't be afforded.

Decisions could prove expensive, as could mistakes. Something could be costly to do, or only affect one type of people negatively, and not the others. It could mean many more things than what the dictionary simply said.

Still, the word expensive – for all its meanings – only really served one purpose in the modern world. It was an adjective, but no longer really used in that way; no, it was more like a lesson now. A vital word that was taught until it was ingrained in your brain, just as much as an emergency dial code was. It was one of those apparent 'life skills' that were oh so important to know _and _master.

When you were young, your parents cautioned you against making the wrong decisions, or spending too much too soon, and spoke of the value of saving. Nothing had really been different for them, except for the fact that they had the money sitting over their heads. Each one of them had a trust fund which was theirs when they reached eighteen, and until then, Dad threw money at almost everything.

International Rescue was just one of those things. It was like going to an expensive restaurant for dinner every night, _and _buying the most expensive car _and _going on the most expensive holiday all at the same time. But, the man's money proved infinite. There was still loads left when the project was completed and the boys realised that there was far more than they thought, almost as if it did grow on trees.

But, it set a president, having so much money seemingly in a cloud.

Scott did buy himself an expensive car, before realising that he didn't really earn enough money yet to afford that on his own. Dad bailed him out, paying the money back to him, although the stubborn first born insisted he would one day pay it back. Jeff never really understood why; their money was shared, most of it ending up in the same place.

John wrote a book after he made his big discovery, but took a risk in choosing a small publishers. The main, big group that were interested had wanted far too many conditions that John simply wasn't willing to meet, so he hedged his bets on a little downtown publishing agency that had a good reputation, but were little more than a start up in comparison to their competition. But, the risk paid off and the decision didn't prove expensive in the end, rather prosperous. Both John and the publishing agency got a considerable cut, and the second son got his wish of a portion of the profits going to a charity for bereaved children.

Virgil soon found that things he wanted, racked up to be more expensive than they should be. Arts, music, all of them were overpriced, unfairly so and it irritated the creative middle child that he had to pay twice what he really should for what was basically a pencil with a number written on the side. It would be far cheaper to buy the casing of the pencil with the led removed, because he knew that was what added the cost.

Gordon's swimming career had been expensive for somebody… aka, mum and dad, but prosperous for him. He'd received many endorsements and funds over the years, but the people who had paid for the lessons which got him there, didn't get any of that back. Years later it dawned on Gordon that he should probably pay it back, but everytime he tried to enter that conversation, Dad changed the subject.

Alan found it was expensive for him to do what he wanted. It wasn't as cheap as he thought it would be to race around in fast cars, and though there were always large prize funds, he never felt right in keeping those for himself.

Back in the days when Jeff was a child, he'd never asked for much. He knew his parents couldn't overly afford it, and he never wished to put them in that position. He didn't ever want for anything, as such. He was an incredibly lucky boy and he was raised perfectly well, and he knew that compared to love, money definitely wasn't everything.

However, it had nevertheless inspired him to make sure that his boys truly never wanted for anything; not love nor money. It wasn't wise to let children think money grew on trees, and so he tried to instil lessons on the value of money into his boys regardless. Yet, when it really came to it, he didn't care what the cost was.

He paid for Scott's car, not because the boys realised he'd made a mistake or because he was relentlessly determined to pay him back, but because he wanted to.

He would have paid for John to self-publish his books, if his son hadn't been able to find an existing company that he was happy with.

He understood Virgil's anger at his passion costing an unnecessary fortune, so he'd set up a tab to cover the costs of anything his middle child wanted. Virgil had smiled at him, clearly having realised, and Jeff was sure the man was constantly trying to find way to thank him. Being able to see and hear his artistic talents, well, that was enough.

He never let Gordon entertain the conversation of paying him back for years' worth of swimming lessons and travel costs. The swimmer had followed his passion from the youngest of ages and Jeff was proud of the boy for never giving up and reaching the highest of heights. It was his honour as a parent to see that, and to have been a part of it. He didn't need to be repaid that money, because it had already been paid back a hundred times over in smiles and happy memories.

He commissioned Brains to make and obtain Alan everything he needed, making the costs entirely in house. That didn't mean Jeff loved his youngest racing round in the fastest of cars, but he knew it meant he could ensure everything was to the best standards. It made it easier for Alan to give away the money he won without feeling like he needed it.

His sons didn't need to earn money. They could sit around with their feet up and he would pay every bill for them.

He knew he couldn't always, of course, for that was life and there would come a time (sad to say as it was to think), when he wouldn't be around. But he could do what he could, contribute where he wished whilst he was here.

Living was expensive.

His dream had been expensive, and he'd built that with money to spare.

He had no plans to take that money to his grave. So his sons may as well have every penny for their every will and wish.


	10. Someday

This really is nothing but a drabble. Part of me wanted it to be longer but I had no clue how to do that without ruining what was here so for now this is it.

* * *

**10: Someday**

Summary: Someday would come. After all, they were only men.

Words: 590

Spoilers: None.

* * *

In the space of a day many things could happen.

You could sleep, or eat ice cream, or go for a run.

Some days were better than others, and some were horrifically worse. That seemed to be a fact of life.

Many things now could be classed as facts, what with the continued expansion of technology and knowledge.

For instance, it was a fact now that if there was a disaster, a time of great need, International Rescue would respond.

But, someday the world might have to exist without International Rescue.

Someday.

Someday many things would happen.

There were infinite possibilities, John knew that better than many.

Some things were more certain than others; like day crossing into night and night crossing into day. That was an infinite loop likely to never be stopped so long as the sun burned, and the Earth continued to orbit.

The stars appearing at night.

The meteors showers that occurred with precision.

The presence of gravity, making it so that water ran down and not up.

There were many things the human race had named as certain.

John liked these things. There was a sense of routine and expectation. There was something you could wait for, rely on. They were useful pieces of information.

It was a fact of life that somethings were inevitable.

There were many things which would happen that the human race couldn't predict as easily as they could try to do with the weather.

John was less keen on these, but prepared for them. He spent his life waiting for people to call him with the unexpected and unprecedented. It was just another fact of life that it would happen, and with great frequency. People fell into the clutches of trouble far more than he had ever expected. He thought their would be some logic which kept people away from it.

There didn't seem to be, and he supposed that was exactly what kept _them _so close to it.

Things like viruses and calamities and the end of the world. Big things, disastrous things.

That was why the world had International Rescue.

But someday…

Someday the world might have to exist without International Rescue. And John knew from looking down upon the beautiful planet, that it wouldn't be ready. It wouldn't know how to cope or what to do. They would flounder in the waters until they overcame them.

For a long time, he wondered if there was anything they could do – to secure the future of International Rescue and make it a fixture, or to the prepare the world for that _someday._ There wasn't. Not that he could come up with at least. The only thing he came up with was to play the waiting game and see what the future brought. To do everything in their power to better those chances, but understand that despite all their heroics and miracles pulled off, they were still only men who were as vulnerable to the hidden power of the future as any other.

They were only _men_.

And someday, they would be only bones.

John loved to look down on the Earth. To see the beautiful planet from up high. Because someday he knew he wouldn't be able to anymore.

And he wanted to carry that image with him.

Carry it to the final _someday_ that he got.

Because everyone had one.

Someday to live… and someday to die.

And some day_s_ to do everything else in between.

International Rescue were no different.

After all, they were _only_ men.


	11. Let the Dust Settle

**11: Let the dust settle**

Summary: It wasn't easy to let dust settle, for it was everywhere, fine and near invisible. Unfortunately, most things in life weren't the same – they were rather like neon signs instead.

Words: 1061

Spoilers: None beyond _'Ring of Fire'_ [S1E1&2].

* * *

Keep it silent.

Keep it away from the world.

At least long enough to let the dust settle.

That had been his plan.

Key word in that sentence being _had, _and then possibly _been. _For the key fact that they were in past tense.

_Like a lot of our lives now, _it seemed.

For everything was, _'Dad this, and Dad that; and Dad was and Dad did…'_

No could or should; or is or do. Everything was past, gone, beyond anyone's reach and ability to change.

And it was horrendous. It was like having rats gnawing at your stomach until they reached the bones and clawed their way out. It was… there weren't enough words, the _right _words, to describe this pain.

At least keeping it somewhat internalised helped. In both senses of meaning.

Keeping the world away had worked for a while, but not near long enough.

Soon they had to let people know because there were rumours spiralling and reporters badgering and there came a time where you had to speak before someone spoke for you.

So they had to come clean.

It was only when he realised they were going to have to play to the whims of the world, that it dawned on Scott that Alan didn't actually own a suit. Heck the kid was ten. What ten-year-old owned a suit? Speaking of, Gordon had probably grown out of his.

God help him.

Apparently, in the subsequent days, that meant John and Virgil were the equivalent to God. Scott didn't really mind that.

Dad had known a Lord Creighton-Ward, and in the days after the announcement was made public to the world, his daughter, Lady Penelope was buying Gordon and Alan's suits. Apparently, Dad had her looking into the guy they only knew as 'The Hood' and they'd had no real chance to meet yet. Scott knew Dad had someone working on it… but he'd never have expected the blonde who turned up at the island, not much younger than he.

It was a welcomed surprise all the same, though he doubted he was in the best state of mind to be greeting anyone. She didn't seem to mind. Or if she did, she was good at hiding it. But then again, Scott supposed there was a nature to honing skills like that to survive in high society – and life as a spy.

Parker – strange guy but incredibly switched on – travelled with her, and he was anything from her butler to her chauffeur, to her teacher, to her side kick, but definitely _not_ a charity case. He could work with that. It was within minutes of the media sticking their ears in that Parker made him – _"Mr Scott Sir"_ – the offer to deliver to them a 'Parker 'aymaker'. He wasn't quite sure what made that any different from a normal haymaker, but he greatly appreciated the offer… and was very close to saying yes before John and Virgil elbowed him simultaneously.

Of course, it wouldn't be until a couple months later that he learnt of Parker's full backstory, but by that point, none of them cared. Scott particularly didn't mind, for that initial meeting was etched in his memory and in his eyes, the man was something of a useful legend. And he was on their side, so who really cared how he'd come to learn what he knew? Not him, at least.

Colonel Casey had called (in both an official and unofficial capacity) to offer her support. She too had known Dad's secret about International Rescue, and it was useful to talk to someone else who could help advise them on what to do.

They'd tried to call Captain Taylor – for he was Dad's best friend after all. They couldn't exactly reach him on the mobile… so, after a couple attempts on five, they were finally able to hail him, out adventuring, of course. The man was like Dad but ten times worse – he never could stay still. He seemed a little… Well, Scott didn't know how to describe the way the man too. He gave them his sympathies and apologies, sounded very sorrowful and then was gone. _He'd get back to them_, he said.

Back on land, Grandma was great too, a real rock, but Scott could tell this wasn't coming easy to her. After all, their Father was her Son: that man was always going to be one in the same. To lose one was to lose both, there was no two ways about it. He tried to remember that they weren't the only ones suffering a massive loss.

Brains had spent ages trying to pose them a different solution, a way which could give rise to a more hopeful word, but none of them played out and the only one which lay within their sights was the one they wanted to never appear.

It began with D (like that of a capital in bold, **unmissable**) and was four letters long, and for many days didn't leave their lips. As though not saying could reverse it, make it a lie or a nightmare, just not… _this._

Their grief was a strong as mountains, standing tall and immoveable.

They should have had time, and plenty of it to do as they see fit. But if time was on your side, then many other factors of life tended not to be. Time, for once, was on their side, but thus little else was seeing fit to be loyal.

It wasn't easy to let dust settle, for it was everywhere, fine and near invisible. Unfortunately most things in life weren't the same – they were rather like neon signs instead.

But the world wanted to know, and the world wouldn't wait, because Jeff Tracy was a man of fortune and power and a point of interest to the masses. Scott thought that translated in actuality to 'a good selling story', but who was he to comment? Well, the media wanted him to, but he guessed that wasn't the type of comment they were scavenging for.

So they had no choice but to tell the world the truth before there were worse rumours for them to quell.

And so, in their darkest hour, together they had to stand.

Had to tell the world Jeff Tracy was dead.

And it felt like the dust had hardly settled in his wake.


	12. Treasure

This is another character I don't usually write for and haven't written in ages, so let's see how this goes! By the way, a belated thanks for all the reviews/favourites/follows/comments/kudos on this series of work so far!

* * *

**12: Treasure**

Summary: Treasure came in many shapes and sizes, and sometimes it was so treasured, it ended up appearing like trash.

Words: 868

Spoilers: _'Relic'_ [S1E15].

* * *

One man's trash is another man's…

Another man's…

Oh, blast that.

It would come to him.

* * *

If someone had asked him in… oh, back in 2025 it must have been, whether he would be sticking it out until thick and thin on the moon – well he couldn't quite tell what he would have said exactly, but it likely would have been some variant of _'no'_ or _'what are you on about?'_.

But, here he was in 2060, sticking it out through thick and thin and making use of what he had left. Yes, things were falling apart… a little, and cutting out… a little, and just generally getting a bit- well, a bit old. But that didn't make it any less the same Alfie who had stuck beside them for the past thirty-three (or come to think of it, was it thirty-four?) years.

You couldn't just let go of a thing like that easily.

They said it was being decommissioned.

They said he should come home.

They didn't understand.

They never would.

To them, Alfie- Shadow Alpha Base, had served his purpose and was now only trash, falling apart with lose bolts and buckles, which there was no point in giving any time, money or even hope to.

He didn't agree.

They expected him to agree.

They expected him to go quietly.

So Lee did _exactly_ that.

He might be an eccentric… okay, somewhat over eccentric man, but he was wise all the same and he knew when he needed to play the fool. They wanted him to leave, wanted him to retire, _fine._

He was choosing to retire with Alfie.

He could keep him going – it wouldn't be hard after all, he'd been doing it all this time.

They wanted him to go though, and go _quietly_.

So he let them think that.

Radio silence, communication black outs, everything. Alfie's systems were dying anyway – they were weakening long before the decommission order came in. It was standard procedure to shut all those main operating systems down too. No one on Earth would be any the wiser.

He'd never been one for _'on time'_ or _'strict orders'_ either – he survived on both those accounts because of Jeff… If Jeff was still on Earth, still running around with International Rescue, well then maybe he could have thought about some kind of 'other' retirement. But this, _this _was all he had and he wasn't planning on giving any of it up without a fight.

Alfie was a little dragged through the mud, dusty and rusty and past his best, but Alfie was Alfie.

This base was his home.

* * *

He didn't expect others to see the world as he did. Few ever had. It was why he and Jeff had gotten on so swimmingly.

Speaking of swimming, didn't one of Jeff's boys do that..? Which one though, was the question… Sam, Jim, Vinny… No, none of those were even the right names.

Another transistor fell out of the unit he was repairing.

He sighed.

It was a good thing he still had plenty of spares. He and Jeff had always tried to repair first as opposed to straight out replace unless it was absolutely called for.

To the world Alfie was decommissioned. Alfie was nothing, non-existent and the moon had returned to its status of _'uninhabited'_. But he knew better. He had the tools to keep Alfie going for a long time still.

And if he was losing it… a little, as well, if maybe he too needed a bit of repairing… well, there was no big hurry there was there! One of these days he'd be _'decomissioned'_; that was just the way of things. But that didn't mean you couldn't try to go out without a fight.

Now, where did he put that note he wrote himself about fixing the A1 board's mechanics…

* * *

There was a lot more to be fixing now. Well, just about everything actually, but he kept it ticking over. He kept going; he kept it all going.

But… it wasn't really going, not- not in the sense that he would like anyhow.

It was going, Alfie was going.

Downhill.

* * *

"_I just can't give up on it."_

"_Look around you, Captain. Don't you think Alfie's given up on you? Why are you trying to keep it running."_

"_Because it's my home, Scott. This base is a part of me and I'm not ready to say goodbye just yet."_

Maybe the rest of the world could. But he was different, Alfie was different and he couldn't just say goodbye like that. Maybe all good things did come to an end, yet he was reluctant to believe that here and now was his, and Alfie's. They had more in them, they had more to give and more to do. Longer to withstand and another round of Leonids to try and wait for.

This had been his home for so long; old and decrepit as it may be, to him it was still home, it was still- _Treasured, _to _him._

_And_ to_ Jeff._

* * *

One man's trash is another man's…

Oh, what was it?

Another man's…

_Treasure_!

And Shadow Alpha One was exactly that to him.


	13. Rewards

This one took a bit of thinking, but then it came to me. I'm still planning to get all of these up by the end of March! Have faith.

* * *

**13: Rewards**

Full prompt: _"The future rewards those who press on." _– Barack Obama

Summary: Sometimes it seemed like your actions would never be rewarded. It will always come; some rewards just take longer to see.

Words: 1257

Spoilers: _'The Long Reach'_ [S3E25&26].

* * *

He could easily have given up. All too easily. But there was lots waiting for him back home and he longed to see it again. So he'd push on, see where it got him, and if he lived another ten, maybe even thirty years, maybe even all of his life here, he hoped one day his efforts would mean something, bring him something.

But even if they never did, he wasn't going to give up. Because he had too much waiting for him back home to not even give it a shot of belief and hope. The chance to go home was worth more than giving up.

It might take a toll on him, but if it worked, if he could press on, survive and go home… well, there was no toll that couldn't eventually cure.

It was hard. Hideously, atrociously – Scott didn't think there were enough adjectives to describe what it had been like.

There was nothing which covered losing your Father. Nothing. No way of saying it which made it better, no platitudes or euphemisms which lessened the blow.

Nothing anyone could say or do to make it better, no matter what they thought they could try.

The only way Scott could find was to keep going. To keep everyone ticking over.

John had thought it over for days on end.

Agonising days with gravity not helping to lessen the headache. He'd been living on Five part time for ages now and with Dad gone… He moved up there permanently. He was better placed to help his brothers from up there.

And he had better resources. He scoured the oceans and the skies and space for weeks before he settled with himself that Dad couldn't be coming back from this one.

With the heaviest of hearts and tears that he wouldn't have shed on Earth, he decided to push on. He would do nothing for himself, or Dad, if he gave up.

So, wiping at his eyes, he answered the next call. And then the next, and the next, and the next…

_Push on, push onwards, keep going, don't stop, don't…_

Don't nearly punch a whole in the wall might be a good idea.

He couldn't help being angry and upset, but he couldn't be because that wasn't what any of the people he rescued needed to see and it wasn't what his brothers were used to seeing. He was the calm, the artistic, the dispute settler… he wasn't the sort of brother who punched holes in his bedroom wall. No, that was Scott, and possibly (though hard to tell at a young age) Alan too…

He knew no one would blame him. How could they? He had just lost his Father, but he didn't want that to be the person he became. After all, that wasn't what Jeff Tracy would have wanted for him. So the man might not be around, but Virgil didn't want to let him down.

He decided to go on. For Dad.

Gordon had never imagined it would happen so soon. He knew it would happen _again, _at some point it had too, but he'd always thought his parents would be old and grey before they went away; and yes, maybe that was a childish hope, but he had been a child, remember?

They were unlucky with Mum, to lose her like _that _and so young, but now Dad too? It didn't seem fair that neither of them got to grow truly old like Grandma and Grandad.

It wasn't fair, and he didn't like it. He wanted to lay in bed and wake up with it all having been a bad dream, or never wake up at all.

But that didn't get life back.

So he went on, hoping one day he could get it back.

He didn't want to do anything. He didn't know how to and part of him didn't want to. What use was there? He was just a kid and schoolwork was rubbish and now he had no parents. His prospects in life seemed so small for Scott wouldn't let him near International Rescue yet, not save test flights of three to learn how to pilot, or little trips out with them, but nothing big; nothing dangerous.

But every day they went into danger, and Dad had gone into danger, and he hadn't come back. Ok, it had taken several missions before it happened, but it had still only taken the one to lose him. What's to say, it wouldn't be the same before he lost one – or more – of his brothers?

The fear and the grief were gripping, but his brothers helped him through.

And maybe continuing wasn't all that bad. Difficult, but not as bad as he thought it would be. The world wasn't- couldn't always be doom and gloom.

Any one of them could have easily given up.

At any point.

But it took eight years.

Eight years of strife and heartbreak and hard work, and – although none of it was really about the reward – at the end they received the greatest reward of all for any rescue, and one that nothing could ever trump.

They had Dad; Jeff had his sons.

Brains had his friend, and Grandma had her boy back.

It was the unthinkable, the unimaginable, yet it was real. It had really _happened. _That was a fact the boys had to reconcile themselves to every day. It was something Jeff still had to remind himself of when he woke up in an actual bed. A number that Grandma had to correct every time she went to cook dinner.

There was one more of them now. Like there used to be.

"And to think," Gordon had begun after Dad had settled back onto the Island, "If we'd stopped International Rescue eight years ago, you might not be here now."

"We wouldn't have done that!" Alan had insisted, but it remained that there was a silent consensus around the brother's seated at the table: _yes, we nearly did._

All it would have taken was for one of them to crack, to give up and stop, and down the whole thing would have gone like a stack of dominos. They lasted though, they held up because they were _together._

Jeff had laughed, traditionally, stepping back into the role of Dad with ease. But underneath all that he knew how the boys felt. He couldn't deny thinking the same – not of his sons, oh no, he'd kept every faith in them! But there had been many tough days and nights when he thought… what if he just stopped trying to find a way home, gave up his efforts and just waited to see if anything came. But he hadn't. He feared nothing would have come if he waited on his laurels.

He didn't say any of that though, just as the boys didn't.

Instead, as Grandma busied herself dishing up Meatloaf Surprise – Jeff had already asked what the 'surprise' was only to be met with grimaces abound – he picked up where Dad's always should.

"Well, we're all here because you kept up the hard work. Mother, what was it that President Father used to like said?"

"Which one, dear?"

"Um… he was in power when I was born, wasn't he?"

"Oh! Yes, wonderful speaker! Let's see, your Father quoted it all the time… Ah ha, _'The future rewards those who press on'. _That was it."

Well, that was definitely what they'd done, and now this was their reward.


	14. Collections

It was probably about time I wrote about Alan for one of these prompts.

* * *

**14: Collections**

Summary: He was in a few of them. A little bundle of clothes with chubby cheeks, bright eyes and a big smile.

Words: 675

Spoilers: _'Home on the Range'_ [S2E20].

* * *

Photo albums.

Two words and yet… they hurt.

He was in a few of them. A little bundle of clothes with chubby cheeks, bright eyes and a big smile.

He was in a few of them.

But he didn't really _remember _them.

John had the memory of a badger… or a… whatever it was that was meant to remember things. John could look at an album and know from the cover what years it covered; he could look at a photo and delve into the whole story behind it.

And then Scott and Virgil and Gordon would all remember their own additions and contribute to the tale and there would be smiles or laughter or tears.

But Alan sat there, nodding along with no real reaction and nothing much to say.

Often these little moments filled in some blanks for him, but it never changed the fact that the memory technically wasn't _his. _

It would never be _his_, it was always going to be little more than a story, a fragment of his life that was so far away – too far to touch. His fingers could skim the surface, but that was all it would ever be. A fragment, a touch to the surface of a very large ocean.

The family collection of photo albums stopped for a time. It stopped during the year their mother died.

There was a new one, one they'd started to reinstate the tradition, to make memories, but for Alan it was always going to be too late to an extent. He couldn't jump back into the past, he couldn't make his younger self remember all those things you didn't hold onto when you were two and three, and everything in the world was new to you. You remembered vibrant things, new things, not always the things which would later value to you the most.

You didn't think about the collections memories would become in photo albums.

Their Mother had thought about that. But it didn't change the fact he couldn't remember. Being here, being at her home, well… it made the pain ten times worse.

"And then Gordon fell off-"

"I jumped off with a lack of grace, Virgil."

"-and was lucky not to whack his head."

"Yeah, you couldn't have afford to lose anymore braincells!"

"Hey, Scott, not fair!"

Life wasn't all that fair.

"Virgil, look."

"Oh John, that's a classic!"

"Show me."

"Scott, why are you laughing? What is it? Oh, no, no, rip that out, that is mortifying!"

"That is you though… right Gordon?"

"Oh I am mortified. Literally the ground can swallow me. _Now._"

"You might have to wait a while for that. This area isn't prone to sink holes."

"Ahhh! This is a nightmare. Why did Mum keep that."

"Making memories."

"If you say that again, Virgil-"

"I think it's a good collection."

Yes. It was.

Alan was thankful to have it, don't mistake him. He liked to look at the images. He liked to see his brothers and his parents and himself, all of them looking far happier than they had been in recent years when they lost Dad, and those past when they lost mum. Even Grandma appeared in some of them, considerably less grey, as Gordon had once pointed out to a whack around the ear.

He was thankful to have it.

That didn't mean he couldn't be bitter about it at the same time.

This was their collection of memories… but to Alan, it didn't really feel like _his._

He suspected nothing would ever change that.

All he had to now was make a collection out of what was to come, and maybe let go of the anger at not remembering a lot of what had been.

There was a future waiting out there.

He planned to grab it.

"Let's get the photo albums out!"

"Oh NO!"

"Oh yes, Gordon!"

That didn't mean it ever hurt any less.

Those two words…

And seeing his young, smiling face looking back at him… and not remembering _why _the smile was there.


	15. Patch

This is the first idea which came to my mind when I saw this word and so I ran with it! Not too sure about it, but let's see what happens! It's really short too and I'm not sure how much sense it makes but inspiration was lacking, so forgive me please?

* * *

**15: Patch**

Summary: Everything in life could be shrunk down.

Words:

Spoilers: None.

* * *

Every Tracy son had a patchwork quilt.

Everyone was unique, and meant something completely different to each boy.

Their Mother had made them, artistic as she was. She'd started Alan's, but never lived long enough to finish it. So, with their Father and Grandmother's help, the boys continued the tradition, finishing the quilt just as their Mother would have with the respective materials. A path of his old clothes and blankets, something which represented the years passing by, right up until he turned sixteen; just as it had been with them.

Scott's was reminiscent of being accepted into the Air Force, the last patch completed with his uniform, because it was impossible for their Mother to sew in his acceptance letter.

John used his all the time when he was star gazing, all the while continuing to forge his plans to head into space, and whilst managing to discover a new star. He always had the blanket there ever since.

Virgil's remained living on the end of his bed, a waiting comfort for anything. He'd held onto it for dear life when they moved from Kansas to the Island, waving goodbye to their Grandmother in the days before she moved out here too.

Gordon's was reminiscent of the year he won Olympic gold; of so many hours spent in the water, of training, of travelling around hotels. The blanket had gone on every trip – unfinished as it then was, though it was completed shortly after.

Alan's reminded him of his family – whacky and crazy, odd and daring as they all were. International Rescue didn't leave much time for 'normal' family life (whatever that was), and he'd spent many periods of his life stuck in troughs and peaks, but the patch work quilt always remained the same.

It wasn't quite as neat as those of his brothers, not all the way through, because their Mother had been a fine seamstress and their Father had been useless, and it seemed – after much swapping and changing – that his brother's mostly were too. The blanket showed that in many ways, but Alan didn't care. He didn't care that the finish never looked quite as good. It was his. And it carried memories which were more valuable than any neat finish.

Virgil ended up being the one with the most skill, so it was his hand which had finished the quilt. Although, as John had proved to be the only one who could thread a needle without harm (to himself or others, and yes, eyes here looked to Gordon), it did involve a little teamwork, the red-head waiting around for those moments where Virgil would carefully pass him the little silver metal with a sigh. Apparently needles unthreading themselves was a more common occurrence then you would have thought.

Full of pieces of memories; something inhabiting each patch.


	16. Mountains to Climb

Morning! So, some of you know, but last night I couldn't get my internet to work, which is why there was no update! They'll be three today instead.

I know which brother I had in mind when I wrote this, but I realised part way through that I didn't actually need to put in the names. You can choose who you want to be where in this.

* * *

**16: Mountains to Climb**

Summary: There were mountains to climb. Always.

Words: 761

Spoilers: None.

* * *

_Never make mountains out of mole hills._

It was a saying, well-known so his Grandma had said.

But he never really understood it's meaning.

There were mountains to climb.

Always.

The literal ones on the island, the metaphorical ones within his mind.

Life was a little battleground of mountains scattered around. No sooner did you climb one and reach the top of the world, did another appear in your way. Or suddenly you had to worry about the way down.

People always thought coming down was easier than going up.

Going up required strength and effort. It required patience.

Coming down was like a breeze, a walk in the park. Gravity was on your side as well.

But it was coming down that you had to better watch your step. One little trip and you were rolling head over heels in an unstoppable rhythm. That was the fall which would kill you.

Tripping on the way up might mean you scrape your hands or scratch your knees up, but usually you were better off than if you were coming down a mountain.

Of course, you could always stay up stay.

Sit on top of that mountain for the rest of your life and stare down at the world. See it passing by, moving before your eyes, ticking along without you… because up there you could be like a King sat upon a throne, but you would be the coldest and loneliest you would ever know.

That was the price you paid.

To live at the top of the world,

To climb mountains… that was a part of life, literal and metaphorical, all the same.

To climb the mountains was actually the easy part, the ritualistic element.

To be able to stay up there, all alone, that was the harder part.

From the top of the islands tallest peak, you could see across the wide expanse of ocean, towards the next shorelines resting beneath the setting sun.

The stars would rise next, truly the highest points and then they would bow and allow the sun to take their place. They were like Kings and Queens, alternating who had dominion to sit upon the throne. They were like shadows to each other's light.

Often, people chose to climb mountains alone, certainly those within their minds, for fear that others wouldn't see the same things they did.

No one thought to climb mountains. Not every day. One person did it, others followed. Someone made it to the top, it became a trend, an amazing achievement, then everyone wants a piece. Everyone wants to be able to say they've made it to the top of a mountain.

Just one. Just once in their life.

From the top of the islands tallest peak, you could see across the wide expanse of ocean, towards the next shorelines resting beneath the setting sun.

The stars would rise next.

He sat there alone.

He sat there alone, watching the sun give in the cloak and dagger effect of night.

He sat there, on top of the tallest peak, his mind twisting in turmoil, all alone at the top of the world.

But, gradually, a shadow not belonging to night crossed his path and soon a figure had sat at his side. There were no words. There didn't need to be.

Night closed in on the peak at the top of the world.

Another shadow crossed their path, sat at his other side, the silence held.

Soon there were two more shadows, approaching steadily before diving, arms wrapping, _holding _like one might try to embrace the sea. It was always shifting, always moving, you could never keep water in your hand.

But he wasn't going anywhere.

Not now he'd climbed the mountain.

He'd climbed the mountain and sat alone at the top of the world.

He'd climbed the mountain, and they'd followed.

Night fell.

Five brothers sat, not alone, on the tallest peak of the mountain they'd climbed, that in the morning they would leave to head back for the ground; but, that when night came again, they would clamber up once more.

There were always mountains to climb.

The physical, the metaphorical.

Sometimes you just had to climb them.

To climb the mountain first in the hope it would show you the way down.

Night turned into morning.

And it was time to climb back down the mountain.

* * *

He still didn't know what it meant.

But he did like to say it.

_Never make mountains out of mole hills._

It had a nice ring to it.


	17. Nothing by Waiting

**17: 'You'll accomplish nothing by waiting'**

Summary: You couldn't always be ready and waiting.

Words: 897

Spoilers: None.

* * *

"Scott?"

The lounge was too small to pace properly, really.

"Scott?"

Sitting down, well - there were plenty of options, but – that just felt too constricting.

"_Scott_!"

Oh, Scott… yeah that was his name, someone was calling _him_.

He pulled his head up sharply, almost too harshly with the force, feeling like his neck jammed half-way up. He raised a hand to rub at it, trying to make the action look somewhat natural. He was sure it wouldn't wash, but it was worth a try.

"Hmm?"

John stared back at him, holo-graphic, but still human, and those green eyes were boring into his every action and posture. Yeah, the younger knew, that was undeniable.

"Only took you three minutes."

That was a long time to have zoned out… oops. Because he was probably zoned out long before John started trying to talk to him. Yeah, Scott didn't really know how to describe this situation.

"Sorry. Uh, what did you need?"

"I don't need anything. You need to sl-"

"No, I'm fine-"

"Scott…"

"I'm up. I'm here. You know, in case anything happens."

John gave him probably one of the most scathing looks he'd ever seen grace the red-heads expression. There was nothing really in it, but still, it would have been fear inciting if it wasn't being directed at a brother who the man loved.

"Nothing is going to happen on the island at this time of night."

"You never know."

"Actually, I do know. No earthquakes, no tsunamis, no hurricanes… yeah, you're good. I mean, the whole jungle is probably sleeping."

"We have night life on this island, you know, John, so-"

"Yes, I know. Still, sleep?"

He'd love to sleep. He felt like he hadn't slept properly since… well, since Dad. And the reason he felt like that was probably because he hadn't slept more than a wink since they lost their Father, and that had been… weeks. It had been _weeks _now since they lost him.

Nothing was quite the same. There was no 'back to normal'.

So he'd be alright to go without a little more sleep.

"Nah. Need to be ready."

"Will you just go to sleep?"

He finally found his feet, returning suddenly to pacing, feeling akin to a trapped bull.

"But what if a rescue comes in?"

"Then I'll wake you up."

"That means _you_ staying awake."

"_No_, Thunderbird Five will wake me."

Oh yeah… part of him had known that, but John wasn't that much younger than him, and even so it was hard to remember his brother was an adult too sometimes. Heck, even Virgil was getting there, and since losing Dad, the middle child had definitely stepped up with a command streak that surprised Scott. He wasn't sure where it had come from… Virgil had always been calm, and level-headed, but he'd only been out in the field with Dad a handful of times. Still, Scott wondered if it was that man he was copying, as opposed to his older brother.

It was one of the many things he no longer knew, but he did know that he needed to reply to John, and that John had just made a perfectly valid point that he had no good answer to.

"I know, but…"

"We're humans, Scott, not machines. You cannot function like they can."

"I know, but Dad-"

"I'm sure he didn't sit up at all hours."

There was a moment of uncertainty in that, Scott caught it, but still… Still John sounded very sure of that fact. But he just didn't know how he was meant to shut off.

"But-"

"Stop saying that. Go to bed now, and speak to Grandma about it in the morning. She would know what Dad would have done."

Yes, she probably would have. She was probably the best placed person to speak about their Father now. Scott had never really thought about what Dad would do when there wasn't a Rescue, when they were stuck in this moment of waiting. He'd never asked because there'd never seemed a need to. He was only nineteen, and he'd had no plans of succeeding his Father. Maybe one day he would, but he was planning for that to be a conversation long, long in the making, not- well, not a conversion he never even got to have before leadership was thrust upon him. Before all these decisions and moments were suddenly in his hands with a lack of skills and knowledge built up to cope with them.

But John was right. Grandma would know. Grandma always knew the answers. Right now he had to trust in that; that was all he could do.

He sighed. "Ok."

The brunette wasn't sure _how _he was supposed to get anywhere close to sleep, but he supposed he could try.

"Good. Because you know, you'll accomplish nothing by waiting."

He was generally intrigued to know the answer to that, even though it was far too late for riddles and his head hurt enough already.

"Yeah? Why is that?"

"Things never happen when you wait around for them."

That was very true indeed.

So, on that note – though not peacefully, or with all resolved, but with some kind of plan - Scott went to bed.

He stopped waiting for something to happen, and instead allowed himself to do nothing.

Typically, not even two hours later, _something_ was accomplished.


	18. Numbers

I had a few ideas when I first read this one, but I thought I wanted to go with something I don't usually write – not for want of inspiration, but more logistics from the show side of things.

You can play around with the ages in your head as I haven't specified, but we're talking school ages, kind of before International Rescue. I'm thinking of using this in my Young Tracy's series too, so hair colours etc at in TOS form for this one

Longest one yet I think too.

* * *

**18: Numbers**

Summary: Gordon had a passionate hatred for numbers and figures.

Words: 2199

Spoilers: None.

* * *

There were people in the world who could achieve great things with numbers. Mathematicians who came up with great problems and solutions and played around with numbers like a baby did toys and a rattle.

There were also people in the world who could achieve great things without numbers. Like artists and athletes and circus performers and… heck, what did it matter? You didn't often hear about people like that, people who struggled with numbers like a baby did walking.

Being a child was hard enough without being a brother.

Being a brother was hard enough without being one of the younger ones.

Being a younger brother was hard enough without having older brothers who could do what you could not.

Gordon was slightly glad to no longer be the youngest, yes. But it still remained that he had three older brothers and those brothers were far more academic than he.

Virgil – lucky bug – could maintain a good average _and _be artistic, the perfect combination of both who was strong and yet delicate, smart and yet creative. Had the middle child just been creative, his teachers wouldn't have been half as kind, but because he was _both _it was like summer come early, all bright smiles and praise.

Scott – for all he was the eldest – was not the smartest, though he didn't like to hear it. But the point remained that he was capable of trudging on through, enough that he would be able to join the Air Force just like their Father had. The eldest wasn't the best with numbers on paper, but he was good at crunching any needed for flight. Pilot mode, as Gordon referred to it.

John – for all Gordon loved him, _really loved him _– was a pain in the ass. He didn't try to be, he never asked to be, but the blonde was inexplicably gifted. And really that should be plural, but Gordon was sure gifted didn't have one of those. No, John was good with words, he was excellent at science (all of them, but physics especially) and he was an absolute wizard with numbers. The red head envied the speed with which his big brother could do his maths homework like it was merely colour by numbers.

It was unfair that all of his brothers were academics, and had set a pretty good record for it at school, raising the bar high, high, high into the sky for him, but it was another thing for John to be a genius.

Virgil had been lucky to be a culmination of smart and creative coming after John, because it made him look somewhat extremely talented too – which Gordon would agree, his direct elder was a master with any medium of art, including the musical kind.

He on the other hand, was not so lucky. He was c**p with words, f***ed with science, and s**t with manipulating numbers. And it was good that he said none of that rant aloud for Dad would absolutely rip in apart for the language, and Scott might have a go to is he was hovering around. It wasn't language Gordon would normally use either even though everyone at school, especially in his year, were at the point where bad language like that was cool. No, Alan wasn't even the reason why he wouldn't use it. They'd always been a family with little need for it, but right now… right now whilst he was pulling his hair out (which, he'd have anyone know was one of his best features) over the bloody, damn nonsensical numbers before him, knowing he couldn't do anything else until his homework – which why did it have to include math! – was done, he didn't care. It was acceptable to use whatever language he so pleased. He'd been here, elbows on his desk and hands in his hair for hours, gritting his teeth and stabbing his pencil into the paper, but the answers were always wrong or the method never came to him- and long story short, he just couldn't do it.

He was so tempted to chuck his pencil across the room, but he'd already snapped one with his anger.

There was a knock at the door. _Oh damn! _He was tempted to just send whoever it was away.

"What?" He'd hoped his tone would be deterrent enough.

"Not a good time?"

"No."

Of all the brothers it could have been.

"Scott's watching the football. Virgil too."

"Goody for them."

"They wanted to know if you want to join. We're having ice cream."

"Lovely. _Off_ you go."

John was silent for a moment.

"So, I'll take it that's a no then."

"Yes. Go."

But by the sound of it, John didn't 'go' in the direction Gordon had intended, for within moments of careful, quiet footsteps, his brother was stood beside him.

"Oh, you're multiplying polynominals."

"So that's what they're called."

He'd honestly forgotten.

John seemed to be looking between him and the paper, full of erased scribbles and large indents from his eventual anger.

"I thought you only had a couple bits of homework to do?"

"And I'm doing it."

"No, I just meant… well, usually you'd be done by now and joining us for ice cream."

"Well I'm not done so even if I want to I can't. House rule. You know that."

"I do." Gordon felt a little bad. He was being snappy and he knew it. And John didn't deserve that just because he was a genius and the younger wasn't. He decided he should probably keep his mouth shut so as not to do any more unnecessary snapping. "Right. I'll just uh, leave you to finish it then…"

"Yeah, off you go and have some ice cream on me."

He thought John might have actually gone. Scott didn't have the same level of stealth as the second son, so it would have been far easier to tell. But no, the elder's quiet nature had done Gordon no favours.

"Gordon, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Something is because you're snapping. And being sarcastic – you don't really want me to eat ice cream for you."

"No, I don't! I want to watch the football – not because I like football, but because you're all down there and you're eating ice cream and I'm stuck up here with poly what's it called."

"Polynominals."

"Yeah, yeah those."

John walked back over, standing beside him with no awareness to how annoyed his very presence was currently making the copper haired boy. _It's not his fault, _he reminded himself. He never asked to be born a genius.

"The answer to question one is 8x2-50x+63."

"How?" He finally, finally snapped, throwing his pencil – unintentionally – onto the floor – he'd been aiming for the desk. _Damn. _"How do you do that, in your head as well! That's not fair."

"Gordon, I learnt these years ago, y-"

"It's still not fair! I've been looking at these for an hour!"

"You should have as-"

"I hate numbers! Why can't we have mandatory swimming."

John… chuckled. And the first thing which came to mind was _why? _Honestly, Gordon was baffled.

_I've just shouted at him, and he's laughing?_

He knew John was good at staying calm, but this was almost crazy.

"If they did that, I really wouldn't be any good. You'd have the best grades."

"Yeah. I would."

"Here."

John held out his pencil to him, Gordon never having seen him moved to retrieve it. He took it with a quiet 'thanks'. He still wasn't quite sure how he should feel. His brother was jesting with him like the whole shouting match - or rather, _at_, since John's voice never rose, not even once – never happened.

"You need to multiply each number by the other numbers in the brackets and then you add and subtract accordingly."

"What?"

"The polynominals you- Sorry. I'll leave you to it."

"No, no, no!" John halted almost abruptly. Gordon realised he'd been shouting, again, and made a deliberate effort to lower his voice. "Can you… can you say again?"

The blonde nodded and made his way back over.

"Do four times two and four times nine, then do seven times two and seven times nine." He made an effort to scribble whilst the elder spoke, his hand moving faster than it did usually, even in class. "Remember if there's x's to times, you have to include them in the answer. So if you times two x's together you get x squared, like if you four times four."

"Ok, ok. Then?"

"Add or subtract it all, and rewrite it in it's final form without the brackets."

"Right, ok. Um… like that?"

John glanced over his shoulder once more, green eyes studying his messy scrawl, made harder to read by the past attempts strewn like ghosts over the paper.

"Yes, but it's plus sixty-three." He frowned, returning his gaze to the paper to look for the reason _why_. "You times two negatives."

"Oh yeah!" He quickly made the correction, rubbing furiously to get rid of the blasted additional line, hovering even still from al his previous endeavours. "Like that."

"Mmm hmm."

"Ok… oh, did you want to be watching the football."

John all but frowned at him. "I hate football. You know I only watch if Scott's playing. I've got a book waiting for me."

"Sorry to keep you."

"I like math, so it's ok."

He nodded, not really sure what else he should do. He never meant to (inadvertently) ask for John's help, although he couldn't deny he was glad to have it, but now his problem lay in how to keep it. Part of him knew asking would be ok and the other was still torn about whether he even _wanted_ to. He was prideful, for all that he wasn't good at math. He didn't want to appear stupid, least of all to his genius brother. But then again, he didn't want to appear stupid to his class either. He'd unluckily ended up with the same maths teacher all his older brothers had had, so there was no luck there, but he intended to keep the rest fooled.

"Do you want to do the rest?"

"Rest..?"

"Of the questions. I can't do them all for you."

"No. Mrs R would probably know." He jested, trying to lighten the mood which seemed to have descended, and he was overly aware that such was his fault for having shouted.

"Probably." John agreed. "I think the handwriting would give it away."

Yes, because John was even gifted with being able to write nice and neatly, just like Virgil. At least Scott's writing was also abysmal, although maybe not quite so much as his.

"I was thinking more about the math."

"But you can do it."

"You told me what to do."

"So just repeat exactly that."

"But I can't even remember what I did, you- you were talking me through it."

"Gordon, does someone talk you through how to do… butterfly stroke?"

"Uh, no!"

"Exactly. And you do it fine."

"I'll have you know I do better than fine. But that's something I'm good at. I've done it for ages."

"But that's the point. Someone talked you through that when you first learnt, but you don't need that anymore. Same thing with math." He let his eyebrows raise of their own accord. John took an answer from that, as expected. "You'll get there."

"Yeah… No. Well, maybe, but not tonight I don't think, and I'd _really_ like some ice cream."

"Me too." John smiled, and that was kind of infectious because Gordon found himself smiling too. "So, question two?"

The blonde reached out and pulled over Gordon's old bean bag. He preferred to sit on that than a chair after swimming. His brother dropped down beside him and reclined quite happily from what Gordon could see.

"I'll just sit here and wait until you need me."

And he did smile this time, of his own free will.

"Ok."

Part of him was very pleased that he hadn't had to ask: the other part was very aware that John had probably gathered he wanted-but-didn't-want to ask for help and thus had offered.

He had some very good brother's looking out for him, indeed. It just helped when they were a genius.

"Right, question two has stuff outside the brackets, what do I..?"

"Same thing, but only times everything in the brackets by the number outside."

"So, I'm doing five sevens, five fours, and five twos?"

"Yeah. And add in the x's."

"But that one's going to give four x's… Is that right, is that possible?"

"Yeah, just put a little four instead of a two."

"So… like that."

"Yeah."

"Ok, ok, I've got this."

"You do."

"Ice cream here we come!"

John chuckled again and Gordon felt a little better as he powered onto question three. There were fifteen of them, but with his genius brother at his side, he was sure he'd be ok getting through them.

He wasn't the best with numbers, but if the world flooded tomorrow, he'd be ok to stay afloat; and until such a time he could best the numerals, he had John to act as his raft.


	19. Success

This is probably the shortest one yet. I was a little stumped at the time I wrote this one, and I've since had plenty other ideas, but I thought, hey, why not stick with the original, short and sweet as it is? There are 31 of these prompts after all.

* * *

**19: Success**

Summary: There were many forms of success, but only one which really mattered.

Words: 288

Spoilers: None.

* * *

Success was one of those words which somehow had the power to define life. Not in the little sense of things either. It was a big thing, a massive thing, which could change the entire course of your future.

Were you successful at school? No? Well, you're a write off then.

Were you successful at university? No? Well, go write yourself off then.

Were you successful at anything academic before or by the age of 21? No? Well go stack shelves then.

That... _That_ was the perceived process of how so-called 'success' worked.

Gordon never went to college. Only one of this brother's not to (although they let Alan believe that's where he was). No, Gordon went and lived under the sea, studying, and competed in sports tournaments – to some very high levels, thank you.

He wasn't a failure or a write off, just because school hadn't been for him.

The world, in his view, was too narrow-minded, seeing success in only what added them, International Rescue, for example.

The whole, big, name in lights thing was happening there in full.

Yeah, sometimes it made him hate being so successful.

* * *

Success was being praised by others for a job well done.

Success was being able to be there to help.

Success was saving everything and everyone.

Success was having a family who supported you to do that.

Success was a simple thank you on the journey home.

Success was having something to come home to.

Success was coming home.

In the end, success was what you made it; what you chose to count and what you willed to discard.

There were many forms of success, but only one which really mattered.

Bringing everyone home.

Safe and Sound.


	20. Run for the Hills

So, as I've said on my tumblr - in case you don't follow me there - I had a busy weekend with work and my internet is rubbish at the moment, so this March challenge... yeah, not going to be finished in March (it's already April of course). So I'm still going to finish them, just at my own rate whilst I also write for irrelief2020.

Goodness I should have written this long ago and I really don't know why I didn't! I am so pleased this prompt appeared because it has finally, finally spurred me on to write it. It's another character I don't usually write solo for – not that I know why, I think just because I haven't as opposed to any issues with writing the character.

Anyway, I would kill for a backstory series on all this you know, but hey, I'll just keep making it up to my pleasure until they choose to see so fit as to give me one.

* * *

**20: Run for the Hills**

Summary: He'd honestly thought it a saying, and little more. He was re-evaluating that now.

Words: 1805

Spoilers: Potential references to _'The Hexpert'_ [S1E20], _'Designated Driver'_ [S1E22]. Mentions _'Signals: Part One' _[S3E14]. Nothing major.

* * *

'_e ad hoften thought habout hall this running haround: driving ha fancy car hand looking the part…_

It was him. There was no denying that.

FAB One and the beautiful, kind young Lady (okay, and the mutt), he drove around were proof of all he know was.

Chauffeur, Butler, Protector.

Yes, he was all of those things thanks to Lord Creighton-Ward's faith in him.

_No hone 'ad hever 'ad faith like that hin 'im. _

Not even those who were always meant to have his back, those who he ran with had never had that much belief.

Safecracker, illusive thief, criminal mastermind…

Okay, well, maybe he hadn't quite made the records for the last one, but they were the things he had been, the things he thought he had left behind, so to speak.

They never left him. He couldn't forget all the things which had made up his checkered past, which formed his skill set, and had led him to this ultimate point.

_This point hof faith._

Lord Creighton-Ward gave him a chance and he took it. He was already something and someone, but maybe this gave him a chance to be more than that.

* * *

He'd been thinking that in the sense of… well, some kind of retribution for his past failings and run-ins with the law.

He hadn't been thinking in the sense of an ex-astronaut who his Lordship seemed to be quite friendly with.

"_Parker, this is Mr Jeff Tracy."_

"_Nice to meet you, Mr Tracy, Sir."_

"_Oh, you don't need the 'Sir', Parker."_

"_hOh… right you hare, Sir."_

When he accepted Lord Creighton-Ward's offer;

"_What would hI be doing, M'Lord?"_

"_Just driving my daughter around, Parker. Looking out for her."_

"_hOh, hI can do that, Your Lordship. hI hused to be hour get-haway driver."_

"_Did you now?"_

"_Yes, Your Lordship, hand might hI say, hI was halmost has good has that, has hI was hat cracking the safes."_

"_Well, then I'm sure I couldn't be hiring better hands."_

…He had, well, assumed it was a one-person sort of job. One person to mind that was.

But since the arrival of Jeff Tracy, it seemed more had come his way.

Much more.

_Crikey ho' Riley… what 'ad 'e signed 'imself hup for?_

_Lord Creighton-Ward gave Mr Jeff Tracy Sir, quite ha lot hof funding for some project hor hanother._

That was what Parker worked out early on, from being stood in the room or sat in the driver's seat.

* * *

The American visited the residence quite often too.

And one day, he brought his eldest son with him for the trip.

"Ah, Parker, you remember Jeff."

A polite nod to show the answer was the haffirmative.

"This is Jeff's eldest boy. Mr Scott Tracy."

The boy seemed very confident too, holding out a hand like he was ready for a handshake. Parker obliged, after a polite bow, of course.

"Nice to meet you, Mr Scott, Sir."

"Oh no, Parker, he's definitely not a Sir."

"hOh… right you hare, Mr Jeff Tracy Sir."

He'd gone promptly to serve the tea, missing the very bright-eyed glances shared between the two men.

* * *

It was the right choice.

_hAccepting his Lordship's offer._

Of course it was the right choice.

Lord Creighton-Ward rather thought so too.

* * *

"_Tea, M'Lady?"_

"_Tea, Parker."_

The young Lady Penelope, heir to his Lordship, wasn't quite one for all that sitting still at gala's and charity balls. Parker thought she was a sight worse than him, and he at least wasn't supposed to be a.. _huhem… 'igh born_.

She set him off half the time.

Her Father didn't seem to particularly mind either, Parker noticed. He'd spare her a cursory glance, non-interruptive to whatever or whomever he was conversing with, see he was already prepared to follow along dutifully behind her, and return to whatever he was occupied with.

Parker wondered for many years whether that was strange or just a trait of the 'igh born.

He never realised, nor had time to be told by his Lordship, that it was only because _he _was going to be there that the man could take his eyes off his daughter for more than two seconds.

His Lordship would rather have liked to tell him that.

* * *

Mr Jeff Tracy Sir continued to visit often.

The young Lady Penelope was rather liking getting to know his sons too. Parker supposed it made sense.

"hAh 'ello hagain, Mr Tracy Sir."

"Yes, hello Parker. Lovely weather today."

"Makes ha change from the rain, Mr Tracy Sir. hOh, there's three hof you."

"Yes, Parker, this is another of my sons. John Tracy."

"Nice to make your hacquaintance, Mr John Sir."

"Oh, I'm not-"

"And 'ello hagain to you, Mr Scott Sir."

"-a Sir."

* * *

Parker had often thought of the old saying… Run for the hills.

Maybe that's what he should be doing, and doing now. Running whilst there was still some kind of chance.

He didn't. Lord Creighton-Ward had _chosen _him, and put _his _faith in _him._

He owed the man a certain amount of loyalty for that.

And he'd promised to protect the man's daughter.

Even if that seemed to come with an additional family who he somehow ended up playing butler for too.

* * *

FAB One had been a replacement for FAB Zero when petrol began to die out.

Lord Creighton-Ward had intended to get a black car this time around, much sleeker and more stylish, but her young ladyship had kicked up a fuss… a rather polite fuss, but a fuss nevertheless.

"Everyone has black cars."

"It's the nature of high society, dear. Chauffeurs drive the cars, the cars blend in."

"The last car did not."

"No, well, that was a favour I was testing for a friend, you see. But it is not viable to have another pink car dear."

"But I think something pink to carry on the tradition would look most fine, Father. Don't you think so too, Parker?"

"hOh… hI hum… well, yes, M'Lady."

"See Father, Parker agrees with me, and since he'll be the one driving it, I think it's only fair if we make sure it is pink."

"Yes, Penelope dear, whatever you say."

"hI ham sorry, Your Lordship. hI didn't know what helse hI could say to 'er."

"That is quite alright, Parker. She's right, after all. Why not have another pink car."

FAB One could also be black though, there was a rather handy switch for it.

_Yes, Parker very much liked the new 'get-haway' car, 'is Lordship 'ad bought 'im._

* * *

FAB Zero had lived in the garage for many years.

Many, many years until Parker and Scott crossed paths again. He'd been doing a spot of… spring cleaning, when Mr Jeff Tracy Sir had turned up with the boy, His Lordship and young Lady Penelope in tow.

"Good morning Parker."

"Good morning, Mr Tracy Sir."

"Yes, well… Apparently it's okay for you to take the day to teach Scott here how to drive."

"Me, Mr Tracy Sir?"

"Yes Parker, you." His Lordship agreed. "Who better."

"Can Parker teach me how to drive?"

"You don't need to drive, dear, that's why you have Parker."

"Hmm, but one of these days-"

The conversation faded away as did the figures until Parker was left very much halone with the eldest Tracy boy. He'd lost count now as to how many of them there were. It was so much easier with just her Ladyship to look after on a daily basis.

"So, how do I drive?"

And he thought her Ladyship moved fast. hOh to be young...

"This car looks awesome. Oh, why's there a button there? Dad's doesn't have one of those-"

It wasn't usual custom, but he grabbed the young man's hand before it could even reach the little impress.

"hI wouldn't touch that, hif hI were you."

"What does it do?"

"Well, Mr Scott Sir, maybe hone hof these days hI'll show you, but for now your father 'as hasked me to teach you to drive."

"So teach me! I'm ready."

"No, Mr Scott Sir. You're sitting hin the wrong car."

"The wrong car?"

"hOnly hI 'ave the 'onour hof driving FAB One."

"So what am I meant to drive."

"hI'm glad you hasked."

* * *

"Parker?"

"Yes, M'Lady?"

"I'd like you to meet Sherbet."

"hOh, hI hused to love Sherbets… hOh."

"He's my new companion. He'll go with us wherever we go."

"hEven hin the car, M'Lady?"

"Of course. I wouldn't expect him to walk alongside us on the road, would I now?"

He sighed.

"No, M'Lady."

* * *

"_You will look after Penelope, won't you?"_

"_hOf course hI will, Your Lordship."_

He wasn't going to dare tell the man that she was perfectly capable of looking after herself.

_Or that 'e might 'ave let slip ha few hold tricks to 'er._

* * *

They were saying goodbye to Mr Jeff Tracy Sir.

He'd just come for tea in the wake and told them some very interesting information.

It had made Her Ladyship rather happy anyhow.

"Well Parker, that does make things more exciting."

"Certainly, M'Lady. hI'm sure Mr Scott Sir, hand Mr John Sir, hand Mr Virgil Sir will hall be very pleased to see you hat the hIsland."

"Yes, quite, um… Parker?"

"Yes, M'Lady?"

"You do know the boys aren't Mr Tracy's yet."

"hAre they not, M'Lady?"

"No, no, no. They still have Jeff. They're Master Tracy's."

"hOh… hI see. Well, M'Lady, hI'm sure Master Scott Sir, hand Master John Sir, hand Master Virgil Sir will hall be-"

He never realised how much Lady Penelope loved the little mistakes he made with his terminology or his speech. And she never told him – too much – for fear that she would correct her source of entertainment too much.

No, she rather liked this character her Father had found for her.

Parker never told her that he rather liked her too.

* * *

The little bell rang, somehow clear and shrill through the house.

_Blimey! 'e no longer knew 'ow that was possible._

Back up he went. _hAgain._

Master Gordon was a bound to be ringing for something.

He was in this for the long haul, certainly until that leg repaired itself.

hOh… He'd have a five in six chance of it being any of the other Tracy siblings, and he was including Kayo.

But of all the ones Her Ladyship had to take a shining too… it had to be the blonde currently laid up with a stack of injuries, one heck of an attitude and a little annoying bell.

"Parker!"

The bell rang again.

"Parker!"

"Coming! Master Gordon Sir. hOh…"

Maybe he really should have run for those hills when he had the chance.

He'd honestly thought it a saying, and little more. He was re-evaluating that now. _hAgain._

But of course, it didn't change a thing.

_hAgain._


	21. Ornament

**21: Ornament**

Summary: She was no ornament that needed wrapping in layers of bubbles.

Words: 967

Spoilers: None, but potential references to a canon relationship.

* * *

For someone in her position, so privileged and fortunate, it was indeed very poor of her to say there were things she hated about her life.

She shouldn't hate anything about it.

Her Great Uncle was the fourth richest man in Europe, her Father wasn't bad off himself, she had a perfectly lovely stately home with a mass amount of surrounding grounds, quite the lovely little dog, and the most charming butler – slash – chauffeur ever known to man.

Yes, she was very lucky. Very fortune. With no right to say she hated anything.

But she did.

She didn't verbalise it often, because that did look very unladylike of her, but that didn't stop her from feeling it; feeling it gnaw away at skin like the gnats in the gardens in summer.

She knew – from being told, of course, not from her own assumptions – that she was very beautiful.

Blonde and rich, and well-mannered and kind, and thoughtful and pretty. Yes, everything that made her beautiful in all senses of the word.

Everyone saw that.

The beautiful Lady Penelope.

The lovely Lady Penelope.

The charitable Lady Penelope.

Well two pennies to all that. They could stuff it and have all of those things. She had no plans – not now and not ever – to be anyone's second half. To hang off their arm like a candy cane did the tree at Christmas, and smile and wave with the appropriate charm in all the right places.

No. That wasn't her and it wouldn't ever be. And the day someone tried to make that vision fit her figure she would set Sherbet and Parker on them.

Whilst surviving one of them might be possible… surviving the pair was highly improbable.

She said improbable because it had been done, but that was by someone with far more… stamina than she would expect anyone else to have. It was also someone she didn't really mind surviving.

The reasons she had Parker accompany her everywhere were for more than just the sake of driving. Parker was her distraction, her 'get this man to bugger off, would you?' man, and he did that job with perfect precision.

There was the odd scrap and scratch up, the odd spillage or the once of dumped bowl of punch, but usually Parker was able to complete the task without any issues; allowing her to continue walking around - with poise, of course – as a single entity, not yet a candy cane with clothing and hair.

She loved the Tracy boys with all her heart, that would never change. They were as good as family to her, but that still never stopped her getting annoyed with them.

Scott, John and Virgil had all grown up to be the spit of their Father – well-mannered and official. For years they had met her acquaintance with overly kind manners and accompanied her to events with much care and chivalry. Alan, though he was more humorous in his affairs, was still just as gentlemanly.

Maybe that was why _he_ shone in her eyes, as more than just an ignorant sod looking for a beautiful lady to take to dinner. Okay, sometimes their combined wills put them at loggerheads, but that never stopped her heart beating faster (and not for arguments sake). It never stopped her find annoyance at his offers of help, even if she'd see at the same time that he had no plans to 'rescue' her as such. She could do that for herself, thank you very much.

But still, it remained to be said that the world saw Lady Penelope.

They saw her as an ornament, waiting to be picked up and moved – delicately, mind you – from one place to another. As something that surely couldn't take care of herself and must need someone at her side to enable her safety and security.

They saw her as nothing more than sparking china, moulded and sculpted into exactly what she should be.

Most men who met her were surprised to find – if they managed to last long enough – that she definitely was not china, and that she definitely didn't fit the mould.

She took Parker with her and had him settle any 'candy cane' issues only because she did have an image to hold up, and the time she had tried to settle it herself had led to some explanation for why a Lady would punch anyone… That was swept under the carpet with ease enough, but she wished it was the sort of story she could advertise.

She wasn't a damsel in distress. She was nothing like Rapunzel or Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty, waiting for someone to come and save her.

She wasn't a smiling portrait. She was nothing like the Mona Lisa, able to hold a smile for centuries without so much as twitching. She quite liked to imagine that the trapped woman would like to snarl at her admirers.

She wasn't a pretty ornament. She was nothing like the little china figures of women that sat neatly on top of cabinets with their umbrellas and their hats and their long dresses. She quite liked to think about breaking every single one of them and flinging them from existence. They were tacky anyway.

And she was far from that.

She may be a Lady, but this Lady could take care of herself, thank you.

No way was she ever going to content herself with sitting on someone's shelf. If there was something to do, or action to be had, be sure that she was going to be there, in the thick of it. Doing whatever it took.

Because she may be a Lady, but at heart she was no less fierce.

She was no ornament that needed wrapping in layers of bubbles.

She could take care of herself, remember?


End file.
